


The Enemy Inside

by NuitNuit (Tasmen)



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-04-30
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:43:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 81,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasmen/pseuds/NuitNuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two nobles cast out from nobility must deal with the realities of a post-Blight world.  Set during DA:Awakening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uncertain Paths

In the blanket of night, Nathaniel snuck into the Keep. He had been reduced to vagrancy, made a trespasser on his family's lands. And for what? To reward Grey Wardens and a Cousland – a banished order and a murderer. Disgust and hatred teamed in a wild fire of barely constrained emotion. His actions had purpose, his final goal tipped with a want for revenge and a reclaiming of family honor and possessions.

The people that filled the Keep did not belong there. The plates they ate on were not their own. The utensils they used belonged in other hands. They walked the halls as trespassers. They slept peacefully at night, their crimes weighing not at all upon their minds. And Nathaniel hated every last one – pretenders and opportunists the lot of them.

The trespassers gossiped freely in the halls, never suspecting that they were overheard. The Warden Commander, Elizabeth Cousland, she was to arrive soon. He heard and he made note. He wanted to kill her, to watch the life drain from her eyes much as she must have watched his father's. But all he could picture when he thought of her was a small girl of ten. A babe in pigtails, a gap toothed smile, a girlish giggle suppressed behind a mud covered hand. It was the only memory he had of her, making desire for revenge all the more bitter.

He needed justification, he needed to put the mask of a monster upon her face and it compelled him to linger longer than was wise. A darkened corner, a small closet, he found his hiding places carefully and kept to them, hoping to hear slivers of information or even rumors about the woman, Elizabeth, anything that might dehumanize the portrait of innocence within his memory.

No real portrait was revealed, other than those things he had already heard. There was talk of her heroics and how she put Maric's bastard on the throne and was to be his Queen. And yet, she was not Queen. Anora was. Death had shattered those ambitions, the new King dying to destroy the Archdemon before her coronation could take place. Some claimed her heart broken. Others scoffed that she had no heart to break, given her lack of tears at the King's funeral.

It would have served her right, to have her heart broken like that. Pain for pain. Justice for justice.

_Let her suffer…_

He listened and spied; he made an effort to retrieve things of his family's. Not everything had been taken by his father when he went to Denerim. Evidence of the Howes could be found throughout the keep: statues in the library, paintings in the main dining hall, personal belongings in bedrooms.

His wanderings brought him to his mother's rooms. While many of her more luxurious decorations had been removed, small reminders of her still remained. If he closed his eyes and sniffed, he was certain he could still smell the aroma of lilacs in the air.

Her armoire was still present, sitting proudly against the wall closet to the windows. His hand glided along the side of the furnishing, stopping only when it felt a familiar indentation. He pushed down upon it, a small hidden compartment popping open and to view. Once, he had caught his mother putting away her jewelry in the secret spot. With a smile, she bade him to keep it between the two of them. _Our secret, _she claimed.

She had been gone for some time, dead long before the scandal. He gaze drifted down, searching the compartment. Inside, he found a necklace. He toyed with the golden strand, twirling it about his finger. Recognition came instantly. His mother's. He remembered her wearing it often. At the time, he never thought much of it. But, as it laid there in his hands, it took on a whole other level of importance. To claim a small portion of the past, to take back a bit of his life, the necklace held such promise. He wanted a small piece of his history back, something to keep the memory alive of what it had been to be a Howe. Others would forget, others would strike their names from the annals and speak of the family's treachery. But Nathaniel? He wanted something to remember the happier times; and but for the actions of his father, the Howes deserved better.

A voice echoed through the air, "What do we have here?" Nathaniel turned, his mother's necklace still within his grasp. Standing in the doorway were two men in armor – one tall and thin, the other shorter and meaty.

"Seems like we have ourselves here a thief," the thin one said, hooking a thumb to point to Nathaniel.

His lips twisted in sneer. A snort of a reply spoken, "A thief? Hardly." It was not thievery to steal what once was yours.

The shorter man shook his head, hand moving to palm the hilt of his sword. "Looks like a thief and hides like a thief? Must be a thief."

Their intent was obvious. There would be no talking his way out of this one. To them, he was an unknown sneaking about the Keep and freeing it of its treasures. "Mmm, yes, however will I combat such logic?" His body tensed, preparing for the inevitable.

"Got a sodding wise arse here too, eh?" The attack was quick. Both men lunged for Nathaniel, but his armor was far lighter and his movements far more nimble and quick. A sidestep to the right avoided the onslaught of the taller man. Another turn and he avoided contact with the shorter one.

Down the hall, he started to run when he heard the shouts of warning.

_Intruder. Thief. Stop him._

Past knowledge was drawn upon. Endless games of hide and seek Thomas and he had played as children. The inhabitants of the Keep might have changed, but not the layout. He ducked around a corner just in time to avoid a group of men. He snuck through one room into another through a secret passage built between the walls.

He would go to the kitchens and exit through a servant's entrance. No one would have expected him to know such an avenue of escape. Unfortunately, a group of four men sporting Orlesian armor emblazoned with the crest of the Grey Wardens were lying in wait for him. The advantage was theirs, surprise definitely on their side.

Two of the men he easily avoided, deft movements and the quick fire of his bow causing them to keep their distance. The two others, however, flanked him when he was distracted. Caught. There was little he could do to evade their capture. He fought against their clutches, unable to garner his release.

"We'll just put you in a cell until the Seneschal decides what to do with you." And though he was now a prisoner in his own home, soon to enjoy the hospitality of the Keep's dungeon, a small bit of relief tickled beneath the surface. His mother's necklace… No longer did it belong to them. He had managed to stuff it within a secret pocket of his armor.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The dreams came every night, no amount of drink or poultice could dampen their call. Flashbacks to memories Elizabeth would rather not remember. She wanted to feel nothing, to be numb and forget. Every sensation, every feeling was wrong and undeserved. Her life had been saved atop Fort Drakon. Her movements had not been fast enough. His will greater than her own.

_It is the sanest thing I have ever done._

The taste of his lips lingered upon her own as the life in his eyes, the smile upon his lips passed within a burst of light and the death of the Archdemon. An explosion of force quaked along the rooftop, toppling all that stood upon it. Her gaze locked desperately upon his, torn away as she felt herself pulled backward. When next she found him, a crumpled mass of metal, blood and flesh, he was gone.

She had failed him. She had failed herself. She had failed her country. Ferelden had lost their King before they had gotten to know him.

She had been too timid at Redcliffe to agree with Morrigan's offer. If she had only… Alistair would have agreed. He would have done whatever she asked. She did not like the thought of another woman, that woman… It had been the right thing to do. The risks were too many, the outcome unknown. She had done what she should and what was her reward?

Her life had become filled with far too many regrets – her parents, Connor, all the lives lost at the Circle Tower, Alistair. Nothing had gone to plan. Happiness has been within her grasp and she let it go. It was all her fault.

And so the dreams came, every night the same images haunted her sleep. Pictures from the past played in staggered sequence; remembrances of the happy and sad mixed together in a collage of self-condemnation.

Each nightmare ended the same, the sounds of her own cries awakening her. Until she started on the trip to Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep, however, she had been able to keep her screams a secret. Mhairi stared across the smoldering embers of the fire, concern overtaking her features. "Commander, are you alright?"

This soldier, so full of patriotic optimism, had yet to be touched by the harshness of the warrior's life. Duty, a life of service to country, it drew many prospects to the Wardens after the end of the Blight. Mhairi was no different. Her elation at escorting the Warden to Vigil's Keep might have made a different person to feel flattered, honored even. Elizabeth only felt contempt and disdain for such enthusiasm.

Fingers raked a trembling stroke through her hair, nerves on edge from her unrestful slumber. "I will be fine." _ Now leave me alone. _The words were meant to silence. Walls had been erected; no passage to be given.

"It's just…you woke up and looked so…pale... I thought…"

"I'm fine." Annoyance bit at Elizabeth's tone. She would not become this woman's friend. She would not be her Hero. She would be simply her Commander and maintain an appropriate distance. The Joining loomed. No guarantees. She would not bury another friend. Never again. "But now that we are both up, we may as well pack up and head back on the road." Vigil's Keep awaited them.


	2. Confined

The cell was too familiar, an image from the past tugged into the present. There had been more than one occasion in which he trapped Thomas within the dungeon. Boys and their games, teasing, taunting, they always tried to gain the upper hand on the other. This was his relationship with his brother. Glory was more often his than Thomas', the benefits of age. It was no longer a game, however. Into his father's dungeons he was thrown, stripped of his armor and weapons.

He was granted the small mercy of rags to cover his body. It was more than his father would have done and he could not help but smile at the idea. _Pretenders_. They could reside in the Keep but they would never fill the shoes of the previous occupant.

They left him alone in his small, dank cell. The Seneschal wanted to wait on the arrival of the Warden Commander. It would be up to her to decide his fate. A bitter irony, just like his father, his fate was in the hands of Elizabeth Cousland. If it came to it, he would take his death as he imagined his father would have wished him to. Pride and an unwillingness to relent were Howe familial traits. In the honor of this family name, he would not beg. If Elizabeth wished to slay him, so be it.

His stay was not completely unpleasant. It was a bit inconvenient being held captive; however, one time a day they provided food – a simple fare of bread, grayish meat stew and a flagon of water. He knew the meal was meant to be a punishment, less than ideal rations, but still to him, it tasted like the food of kings. Prior to his incarceration, he subsisted on what he could find and steal – often rotten vegetables and portions of meals discarded by tavern patrons.

And while he slept on the floor, only a swatch of hay and a threadbare blanket for cover, the dungeon was at least warm. It was a step up from sleeping upon the cold ground. He had been an outlaw since leaving the Free Marches.

Fun and free times in the north had come to an end as his benefactor's hospitality evaporated with the death of Nathaniel's father. His family was dishonored, all previous favors granted taken back and it left him destitute and without a home. With only the clothes on his back, his weapons and a few pieces of gold in his pockets, he left for Ferelden.

He had not known what to expect upon his return. Answers, he hoped. His remaining family intact, he prayed. All he found was death, destruction and more questions than he had upon arrival. The Blight and civil war had ravaged the country and in the midst of all the devastation, his brother and sister were both missing. Those few that would speak to him without immediately shunning him for his surname had little to no information that they cared to share.

And it all led him to his current predicament. She was coming and they would have their reunion. It was not how he planned, but soon they would meet and all would come to an end. Would she recognize him? Would he snap her neck if given the opportunity? Would she do the same to him via a hangman's noose? He did not know.

.

.

.

.

An all too familiar feeling began to crawl across Elizabeth's skin, a locust's swam of foreshadowing and warning. _Darkspawn. _They neared the Keep just after the sun's fall. Flickers of flame kissed the evening's sky. The Keep was aflame.

He ran toward them. His steps frantic and filled with urgency. Warnings given. Bad news shared. Darkspawn had swarmed without warning. From holes in the ground, they rose and spread their destructive attentions. So many had died. So many were unprepared.

Little good he would have done in his agitated state. He did not have the appearance of a seasoned soldier, and had run rather than fight; a coward's retreat and he disgusted her. He could have only gotten in the way with his whimpering and crying. She sent him off. Better for him to have been on the road seeking aid than on her back. She had not brought a ladder with her after all.

Mhairi and she fought on at an awkward pace. Moves were ill-timed. Foes kicked and bashed simultaneously, effective but wasteful. It was sloppy and amateur, but there was no time for lessons. Kill or be killed; the brute force of what must done drove them forward and through the never-ending onslaught of enemies.

When they came across the mage, Anders, with his quick wit and apologetically charming smile, Elizabeth hoped that things might improve. Healing, aid in controlling the enemies, it would have surely made the fighting less arduous. But it did not. Both Mhairi and Anders stood in the wrong places, used the wrong spells, and uttered foreign battle cries. A whirlwind of the surreal raged in a tempest within the thick of battle. More awareness was required; abilities tempered due to cautiousness. She was off her game, unbalanced. Yet somehow, the darkspawn still fell. Blades found easy target in crusted flesh and jagged bone. A trail of ruddy destruction marked their path through the Keep.

_Beginner's luck._

Angered and frustrated, battle weariness crept within. In both Anders and Mhairi's eyes, she saw excitement and fear. This was new to them, the battle with these monsters. They seemed to drink in the thrill of each kill, remarking at their own ability to survive, to live.

It had been that way for her once. She was younger and though in mourning, she was filled with hope and duty inspired vigor. Looks into the past would have brought only pain and sorrow. She cast them aside and continued to concentrate on those things she could control with direct action: the arc of her weapons, the fall of all darkspawn that crossed her path, and a steady stream of barked orders.

Only when they ran into Oghren did a bit of the tension ease away. A familiar smile and wave of a meaty hand, he greeted her in between swings of his axe. She forced a smile between her attacks for her old companion. He would at least know what to do. He would know she preferred to hang in the back and outflank her opponents. He would know not to knock down an opponent at the same time as she. He could fend for himself and did not need her to look out for him.

They fought on, granting no mercy to any that crossed their path. Then they saw _it_ and it spoke.

_Be taking this one gently. We are wishing no more death than is necessary._

Darkspawn were not sentient beings. Thought and speech were impossible. Yet there it stood, a scar-covered creature encased in higher quality armor than she had seen any darkspawn wear. And rather than kill the Warden held at bay by the threat of a sword, it sought to take him prisoner.

Confusion muddled her mind -- too many questions, too many absurd details. She did not know what to make of it. But time for thought and contemplation were cut short with an attack. The darkspawn craved the Wardens. The others? The darkspawn wished them to die.

The fight raged longer than the others. Mhairi fell. She fought too over enthusiastically, leaving herself open to attacks from the side. She was on the ground, her waist run through and unconscious before Anders could react.

Combat continued around Mhairi's fallen body. A maelstrom of metal colliding in clattering clangs. In the thick of things, Elizabeth turned to the side, a look tossed over her shoulder in habit. A ghost of an image, so easy to place him there, but it was only imagination. Guilt and anger, closeted in the heat of battle returned in distraction. A cut to the arm pierced through her armband, burning her flesh. A poison invaded, slowing her movements, making her sluggish and clumsy.

Adrenaline sought to counter the poison's effects and succeeded slightly, enough energy remaining to stay the shaking that threatened.

One darkspawn fell, her dagger piercing precisely through its chest.

The second darkspawn fell under the sway of Oghren's axe, a heavy blow separating head from neck.

Only the talking darkspawn remained and all focused upon him.

She bounded behind the monster, letting Oghren attack from the front. Dagger and sword, she swung and jabbed. Leg, arm, back, a vulnerable spot exposed, she took advantage.

Anders proved a quick learner, his positioning easily figured out and maintained. From afar, his spells sung in the air, connecting right and true with his targets, be it waves of healing or icy tendrils of magic.

A final slice brought the creature to his knees. Its fate was sealed. Sword crossed against dagger, hugging the line of his neck. Arms pulled back in a quick motion bringing an end to the darkspawn abomination.

Wounded were tended to. The Commander's duties gave Elizabeth no pause to rest. The battle was over, but her work had only just begun. Too many voices spoke at once, demanding her attention. She had not asked for this. She did not want this. She agreed to be Commander because it was what _he _would have wanted and because she did not know what else to do, how else to live anymore. Lady Cousland? A member of Court? Those titles and positions she no longer understood. Her duty coursed through her veins – a Grey Warden. So she listened to all the requests, gave her orders and looked to the man who called himself Varel.

_Visitors approach_, he told her. A look over the Keep's battlement showed their advance. The Royal crest was unmistakable upon the banners held high in the air. Anora or a messenger. Either way, it was a greeting Elizabeth did not look forward to. The women had shared few words after Alistair's death and Anora's official rise to the sole ruler of Ferelden and Elizabeth had nothing more to say to her now.

Conversation with the Queen had been short but not without incident. Templars arrived with the Queen, seeking to take the mage away. They claimed him a murderer. His fate was sealed. Without much thought, she invoked the Rite of Conscription.

The Rite and two volunteers meant a Joining was in order. A mage, a warrior and a dear friend would have their fates decided in a single sip.

Preparations were made; a goblet filled.

_Join us brothers and sisters.  
Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.  
Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn.  
And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.  
And that one day we shall join you._

Anxious anticipation overflowed as Elizabeth watched Oghren take the chalice. A joke was offered in a moment of levity but no smile creased her mouth. Only worry and sadness persisted. She did not want to watch another person she cared about die.

Never had a belch sounded so sweet and all was well.

Next came the mage and it was almost too much. Similarities that had gone unnoticed hit without mercy. If the shadows hit just so, if he turned his head was seen in profile… The sound of his voice was a slap back into reality. _Not the same…_

He fell backward and all was well.

Mhairi took the cup eagerly. It was the moment she had been waiting for, an overwhelming feeling of honor awash upon her features. Mhairi drank and in an instant, Elizabeth knew.

Mhairi fell forward and all was not well.

Another death added to the running total in her mind.


	3. Bitter Taste

Flames licked at the night's sky as an inferno raged atop the pyres. Bodies, both man and monster, piled atop one another in a bath of fire. Elizabeth heard the whispers.

_So impersonal, does she care nothing about the dead?_

Each death was catalogued as a number in her head. Mhairi, her friend Rowland, they were just two of the thirty-six being sent back to the Maker.

She did care.

She refused to respond to the gossip. Individual burial was not pragmatic. The Vigil needed to move beyond the attack. Daily reminders in the form of yet another funeral, at yet another individual pyre with its smoke wafting rotten and charred within the air would be counter-productive.. She did not need the daily reminder of a funeral pyre of the past, a man in golden armor, a promise made and broken. So, she would take their hatred. She would take their sneers. Let them think her a sinner so long as they did what she commanded.

The weight of it all pressed down upon her shoulders. More decisions to be made, more judgments to pass. A never-ending sea of requests lapped at her heels. Clutching hands extended seeking aid.

The Farmlands needed support; they were overrun with darkspawn. Entire families had been wiped out, crops destroyed. The promise of famine loomed in the horizon in the form of depleted food stores, a city without grain. Something had to be done.

Merchants attacked, their goods spoiled, many men killed. Trade was vital to the region, without it, they would be isolated from the rest of the nation, from Denerim and the royal armies.

The darkspawn rose from a hole in the earth, an entrance to the Deep Roads reported deep within the Arling. Men in Amaranthine would know the details.

A Grey Warden is missing. Kristoff. He was last seen in Amaranthine.

No matter where she turned, a different path tugged for her attention. To go down one road would mean the destruction of the other. There was no one clear cut path that shone bright and true, illuminated in the sunlight of truth.

She split the men and bade them to do what they could. Some effort was better than no effort. She and hers would head to Amaranthine in the morning. She could only hope it would be enough.

One last item required her attention. A prisoner was within the dungeons. They claimed he was a thief that had been caught sneaking around the Keep prior to the darkspawn attack. She was told it took four Grey Wardens to restrain the man. Now, those men were dead, slaughtered by darkspawn and the fate of the thief would fall to her .

Oghren and Anders accompanied her down the dimly lit corridors of the dungeon. Deeper and deeper into the depths of the Vigil they traveled until they came upon the jail. A guard awaited them.

"Ah Commander, it is good you are here."

The guard brought her to the cell and motioned to the prisoner within. He continued to speak, but she did not hear him. His comments went unregistered, unrecognized. The man in the cell… She recognized him. Could it be?

A ghost from the past made solid and real sat pressed against the cool stonewall of the prison cell. A ghost from a past she tried to distance herself from as to not be swallowed whole by the knowledge of all that was lost, all that she once had.

_Nathaniel Howe. _

He had aged - once boyishly handsome features had become more haggard and rugged with the passage of time. But there was no mistaking the cut of his jaw, the Howe nose and those eyes, piercing and intent in their stare. At one time, she had…

Everything froze as she was overwhelmed with a progression of memories..

_A girl of ten giggled before the handsome young man of sixteen, trying desperately to garner his attention._

_A girl of fifteen felt her heart sink when his father and brother arrived, but he was not with them._

_A girl of eighteen cried as she looked down at her father, his wounds mortal. She screamed for revenge as she was dragged away. Conscripted._

_A woman of twenty ran her family's sword through her parents' murderer. She felt nothing._

The wave crashed down upon her head, a torrent of emotions and memories barely suppressed rising to the surface anew. They were things she did not want to remember. They were things she did not want to relive.

His presence, his existence, it reminded her of losses she'd yet to heal from, the thin thread holding her together fraying just a little more.

Howe's child lived.

Her brother's did not.

Howe's child lived.

Her parents did not.

Revenge exacted once before, leaving her hollow.

_I deserved...more._

He did not. But would his son? The decision was hers to make.

"Leave us," she bade the guard, fingers gripping firm at the steel of prison door as she tugged it open. Cautious steps carried her into the bowels of the cell. She stopped just shy of him. "Nathaniel." The name tasted bitter against her lips.

.

.

.

.

.

Nathaniel had heard the screams and explosions above as he was locked away in his dungeon quarters. For some time, he thought he might die within the small cell, forgotten by his keepers as greater worries plagued their minds.

Two days he went without contact or food before torchlight and the echo of approaching steps penetrated the heavy darkness of his seclusion.

_Darkspawn attacked the keep. Good men died while you yet live. You disgust me._

The spit upon his skin felt exquisite, a happily accepted prize. His family's home had come under attack and he could not help but feel a small thrill of pleasure at the thought of the intruders being intruded upon.

They deserved no less.

Whatever happiness he gleaned from the moment passed quickly. The Grey Warden Commander survived and would judge him yet. Cousland lived and, perhaps soon, he would not.

He did not have to wait long for her to arrive. He heard the announcement of her entrance long before he actually saw her. And while he thought he was ready to see her, for her to see him, for all this to be settled, he still felt the tickle of anxiety creep within his belly. He was not scared to see her. Howes did not become afraid. However, he had thought of nothing else but of this moment for so long, that he was not quite sure how to approach it now that it arrived.

And then he saw her. The dull flicker of torches cast an eerie shadow across delicate features. So like her mother… But there was a coolness there, walls erected, an impassiveness to her gaze. She was a vision in contrasts – the feminine and soft wrapped up in the protection of burgundy hued mail and a hardened persona.

She was not what he remembered.

_A boy of sixteen became annoyed with the little girl that followed him all over the Castle._

_A man of twenty-one arrived in the Free Marches and hoped he would finally please his father._

_A man of twenty-four received word of his father's new title. He was the son of a Teyrn now._

_A man of twenty-six received news of his father's death. He screamed for revenge._

She was not what he expected. A monster? A demon? Neither stood before him and none of that changed the fact that she was the last face his father saw before dying. His father's blood stained her hands.

She stood so near, so close. Her neck was slender and unprotected, no helmet worn. He could just… But there were others present, a mage and dwarf hovered in the background, protective and watchful.

_That patient man watches and observes. He bides his time and then strikes when opportunity presents, Nathaniel. Remember that._

His hands pushed into the ground, and he rose. Limbs had grown stiff from disuse, a stab of pain striking at his knees. He did not grimace or wince. He could not give her the pleasure of observing his discomfort. "If it isn't the great hero, conqueror of the Blight and vanquisher of all evil. Aren't you supposed to be 10 feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?"

Metal brushed against metal, her arms rising to cross over her chest. "Are you trying to insult me?" Already she was on edge, a bite to her tone. Good.

Strike for strike. She craved an insult? He would provide. "Somehow I just thought my father's murderer would be…" _Beastly. Monstrous._ "…more impressive." Grey eyes narrowed, honing in upon her green. "These were my family's lands before you showed up." And took what was not hers to take. She was the thief, not him. "Or do you even remember my father?"

Emotion, right and true, splintered. She was angry. "I remember your father. I remember the traitor. I remember the man who murdered _my_ family. Do you remember _them_?"

_Eleanor Cousland smiled warmly toward him, her hands extended in greeting. "Oh Nathaniel, Fergus will be so happy to see you."_

_A father's letter to his son: The Couslands have betrayed us, have betrayed Ferelden. I have done what must be done._

A response spat out, "Your family was going to sell us out to the Orlesians." The Couslands were not innocents in this matter.

Her chest rose and fell in a huff of disbelief. "I suppose your father told you that."

Contempt and bile gathered in his throat. She was not fit to speak of his father. "How could he? A Grey Warden stole into his estate and slaughtered him before I could even talk to him."

_They found him in the dungeons, my lord. Slain by the Grey Wardens that kidnapped Queen Anora._

"I came here…" He let the words hang before the lie came to his lips, "I thought I was going to kill you. To lay a trap for you." And if given the opportunity, he might well still have done that. "But then I realized I just wanted to reclaim some of my family's things. It is all I have left." A frown tugged at his lips. The legacy of the Howes? Gone. The titles and holdings of the Howes? Gone. Only material possessions remained and while other things he said may have been false, this was not.

"Just how much do you know about your father?"

He knew what she wanted to hear even if she did not ask it. "Look I don't know what happened with the Couslands. It sounds like it was horrible…the entire war was. But, if you are asking if I knew just what he was up to, the answer is no. I was squired in the Free Marches." A bit of the tension shook away, his arms crossing, mirroring her stance. "Look, I know you're a hero. You fought a war and you won, and to the victor go the spoils, right? Whatever my father did, however, shouldn't harm my whole family. The Howes are pariahs now, those of us left. It's all thanks to you. And now you get to decide my fate. Ironic, isn't it?" Laughter laced bitter punctuated the irony. The dungeons were different, but his fate would be the same as his father's. He was sure of it. If the tables had been turned, he would not have hesitated to take Elizabeth's life.

A heavy silence filled the air as she stood there, staring, watching. Her mouth opened to speak, but fell shut. Arms unlocked, falling at her side and she paced, turning to look at her companions and then finally back to Nathaniel. "What will you do if I let you go?"

"If you let me go…" It was a ploy. She was playing with him. There was no way she would really let him go. "I don't know. I only came back to Ferelden a month ago. If you let me go, I'll probably come back here. You might not catch me next time." She might not be aware when he snuck into her room in the middle of the night. She might not be aware of the poison he could slip into her food when no one was looking.

A frown pressed into her lips, brows quirking up irritated. "You are not making the best case for yourself."

Dry and all together unamused, he said, "I could lie, if you prefer."

"I…" Something faltered, a flicker of feeling flashing brief within her gaze. But as quickly as it was born, she appeared to regain control. "Do you really hate me so much?"

Spider-web thin cracks spread in the stoic facade. Perhaps she was not so impassive as she appeared."The darkspawn are a menace. If it weren't for the Blight, maybe my father would never have... Done what he did." Fires refueled. She killed his father. "But I can't do anything about them, can I? There's just you and the Grey Wardens, here in _my_ home."

She nodded to the statement, a gesture almost too simple in its passing. "'I've decided what to do with you."

"Already? Good." And it was done. He but to wait on the hangman's noose.

Word was sent for the Seneschal to join them in the dungeon. He arrived moments later.

A sycophant ready to please his master, the Seneschal disgusted Nathaniel. This man had been a servant of his father's at one time and was so quick to give his loyalties elsewhere. "And what have you decided, Commander?"

Green eyes honed intently upon Nathaniel and he waited for what he expected to hear. "I wish to invoke the Rite of Conscription."

But it was not what he had anticipated. She would have him join the Order that helped to slay his father? That helped to slay a King? "You what?"

And in this matter, it seemed Varel agreed with Nathaniel. "I'm sorry Commander. The Rite of Conscription? On a prisoner?"

His head shook. He would not share brotherhood with those that brought misery to his family. "No. Absolutely not. Hang me first."

Elizabeth's head tilted to the side. "You don't think this is better than dying?"

"Hard to say. You like having Grey Wardens that want you dead?"

Something sarcastic touched her features, her mouth tugging bittersweet, "Some of my best friends have wanted me dead."

"I can't decide if this is a vote of confidence or punishment."

"We'll know soon enough, won't we? Not everyone survives the Joining so maybe you'll die after all." She turned to Varel, "Prepare the ritual."

Little time was wasted. Nathaniel was led from his cell,. As he exited the dungeon, he stumbled, eyes unused to the sunlight. His hand rose, shielding his vision so that it might adjust. As images began to filter back in, he saw a far different Keep than the one of his memories. Fire and battle damage had taken their toll upon the buildings.

And all around, people ran about in some form of frenzied order, trying desperately to put back together a puzzle missing a few of its key pieces.

He allowed a snort to pass his lips. This was not the Keep of his father. This was not the Keep of his family. Its honor stripped and seared away - what had once been proud left broken.

Unceremoniously, he was shoved into the main hall and toward the dais. It would either be the spot of his Joining, or his execution. He was unsure how he would die, if he did. But as he saw the cup come forward and heard the words spoken of brothers and sisters, the words spoken of duty that could not be forsworn, and the words of sacrifice that would not be forgotten, he knew death would in a single sip.

A wryness bit at his lips as he took the chalice in his grasp and drank.

_And everyone had thought it would be my brother who died from the drink… _

The concoction tasted bitter against his lips.


	4. Moments of Truth

Elizabeth watched as Varel handed Nathaniel the chalice.

"The moment of truth," Nathaniel murmured as he accepted the cup and drank.

Was this really where Elizabeth's life had lead? Was the Maker truly out to get her? One hardship after another piled high atop her head: obligations to the Grey Wardens, the loss of Alistair and now the fate of Nathaniel rested in her hands.

The decision had been easier to make than she had feared it would be when she first saw him sitting in the cell. Before the archdemon, before Riordan's education about a Grey Warden's true purpose, she would probably have personally tied the hangman's noose and put it around Nathaniel's neck herself. To her former self, the Howes, every last one of them, deserved nothing more than to be stricken from the face of Thedas.

If she had known about the final blow from the beginning, so many things could have been differently. She would have let Loghain live and if he survived the Joining, _he_ could have taken the final blow, not Alistair. She would have happily taken Loghain as a Grey Warden to serve as a sacrificial offering to Ferelden if it meant Alistair would still be alive.

If she had known…

But now, she did know, and ignorance was no longer a luxury she could afford. Knowledge and experience pushed her to a quick decision. She would conscript Nathaniel and let the Maker decide his fate. She would not condemn another man again when he might still serve a purpose,when his sacrifice might yet save someone else more worthy. He could live for now, should he survive the Joining.

_The moment of truth, indeed._

The ghastly screams did not issue forth. The stomach wrenching convulsions of the rejection of the taint did not come. None of the usual signs of death arose. And then he fell back.

Varel knelt beside the fallen and unconscious Nathaniel and touched at the pulse upon his neck. "The boy is stronger than I expected. For better or for worse, he will live."

"Maker willing, it will be for the better." She motioned down to Nathaniel, "Bind his wrists." He would awaken soon and she would not have let loose in the keep, not yet.

He might be a Grey Warden now, but he was still a Howe much in the same way that she was still a Cousland. Titles might be taken away, but the concept of family and honor stayed with a person no matter what.

She watched as the guards tied the knots about Nathaniel's wrists while he laid there in his taint-induced slumber. The peaceful slant of his expression was deceiving, she knew. Each person's dreams were different, but none were pleasant.

_The archdemon roared, spitting breath of fire into the air. The ground thundered as its cry bellowed. Thousands of troops laid in wait with a single purpose, a single charge. Death. _

She tugged her gauntlet from her hand, brushing her hand along the top of her head. Her Joining seemed so long ago, when she had been so young, so idealistic. The hopes and dreams of the young girl that opened her eyes to find Duncan and Alistair's relieved gazes existed no longer. She had been torn apart one piece at a time until only a husk remained; the hollow wounds of her life's path were left to fester.

She forced down the bitter pill of Nathaniel's survival with a swallow of relief. Emotions collided, leaving uncertainty in their wake. He had been her friend once, or at least that is how she remembered their relationship as children.

_Show me how you use a bow, Nathaniel! Please?_

Yet, she was sure that if he had died, she would not have shed a tear at his passing. Should she have felt more? Guilty, perhaps? Did he feel guilt for what happened to her family? What happened to the innocent boy she remembered as he slept?

Regardless, the waiting was over and it was done. Dwelling on what might have occurred was not worth the time. Her list of regrets already overflowed, there was no room left to store more.

.

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The throbbing tap of a headache began as if he was waking to a hangover. Eyelids opened and the world came crashing back within. Light then images then…her face. A picture from the past brought forth into the future. He knew her… Elizabeth Cousland. It had been a dream like no other dream. Reality collided with fantasy, doubt mixed with certainly. What was true and what was false? He could not tell.

His hand rose, pressing into his brow. He felt the warmth of his hand against his skin. Real. He blinked. She still was there. Real. His nostrils flared. A breath inhaled and exhaled slowly. Real. The feel of stone against his back. Real.

He must have passed whatever test he was given. He was alive, and the Maker was obviously not done with him yet. He continued to look at Elizabeth. She seemed worried, he thought. The corners of her mouth dropped in the slightest of frowns and the corners of her eyes crinkled just so. Or perhaps instead, she was disappointed in what she saw.

What had happened? Why was she here? Where was…

_Vigil's Keep…_

The fog began to clear. His father's arling, but his father was…

_Dead…_

Memories trickled in at first as a tease, a slow drip of pictures taunting and teasing. Blood, war, victory, the aftertaste of blood lingered in his mouth as if a trophy of battles won that he did not recall. It brought forth more remembrance. A dragon, a man, his aim bright and unflinching, it sunk deep into the dragon's head. Screams erupted, a cacophony of terror and delight singing colliding melodically in the air. It was the end. It was the beginning. It was every point in-between. All paths led to nowhere, a battle fought and won and lost simultaneous. No winner. No loser. Only pain and duty and existence.

It had been a dream, but it felt so real, so vivid. The monsters screamed in his head, changing him, changing his perspective. He was them but he was not. They were him but they were not. He looked into the green of her eyes, it all hit, the meaning of it all, the fate he had been dealt. It was a death sentence in degrees. She was a Grey Warden and now he was too. It had been a sentence and a mercy combined into one gesture.

"Why?" It was the first and only thing he could think to ask. She had saved him when she could have easily seen him dead. She had saved him when he knew that he would not have done the same for her. Was she the better person? Or did she have some ulterior motive in mind to further his torment, to further make him pay for the actions of his father?

"Because I could, Nathaniel. And..." There was a pause as her chest heaved in heavy breath. She almost looked like a fragile doll dressed up to play soldier, the heavy chainmail appearing burdensome and awkward. "I… felt it best. You could serve better alive than dead." There was some meaning hidden in the words, something she was not saying. Barriers seemed to have been constructed, and he was sure any effort to find her meaning would have met with an impasse. He opted to question no further, at least on that subject.

He pushed off the ground, attempting to stand. A frown touched his lips at the bonds about his wrists. "Do you think you might undo my wrists?" His arms rose in an awkward gesture.

Her mouth pinched pensively for a moment before she shook her head. "No. I don't think that I will. Not until we talk some more." She swept her hand to motion to a doorway leading into an interior hallway of the Keep.

Hint taken, he proceeded in that direction. "I suppose that is fair, all things considered."

Guards pushed open the heavy doors for the pair. Her steps did not slow as she glanced briefly at Nathaniel. "You did mention wanting to kill me."

"I did and yet, you let me live."

Her shoulders rolled in a hapless shrug. "For now."

He stifled his anger at the sight of so many strangers lurking in the hallways as they walked. Recognition dawned as they turned the corner. She was leading him into the wing of the Vigil where the private quarters of his family should have been found.

"Ah, so I may meet a grizzly fate yet." A sardonic edge overtook his expression. At least she was being honest. He could respect that.

"Perhaps," she said plainly. "It all depends."

More tests? "Depends on what?"

She did not answer him.

Further into the bowels of the Keep they ventured, a turn to the right followed by a turn to the left. The twists and turns of the Keep's interior hallways were almost like a maze at times. They stopped just shy of his father's old rooms. She turned and looked at him. Once, there had been warmth and life dancing within her eyes. She had been a playful child, so easily made to giggle and smile. But all he saw when he looked at her now was a shell of what once was. Hard edges had overtaken the soft. It was an expression etched in the memory of loss, and one he knew all too well.

"Your fate depends on how well you fight, as well as on how you answer my next question."

More tests it was. Nathaniel asked, "And that is?"

She considered him for a moment, letting his question hang in the air unanswered. Her arm rose and freed the dagger upon her back from its sheath. Her head dipped, she looked down at the dagger as she idly let the blade roll along the palm of her hand. Was this to be the moment of his execution? Would they come to take his bloodied body away and add it to the pyres burning outside? Her gaze found his once again.

"Do you still intend to kill me if given the opportunity?"

To answer yes would no doubt mean his death. To answer no would be a lie. The Couslands had ruined his family's name, and this Cousland now possessed all that had been his. She was the arlessa of Amaranthine while the only title left to him was the title of common thief.

_For now?_ "No." A lie obscured in the truth.

The tip of her finger pressed into the pinpoint end of the blade. "Do I have your word, as a Howe?"

She attacked in a way he did not expect, and yet in a way he should have seen coming. Just as the Couslands were a proud family, so were the Howes. She would have him swear on his family's honor, or what was left of it. "I am surprised you'd take my word as a Howe. I would expect that means nothing to you."

"It doesn't. But I suspect it still means something to you." No feeling. Her lips moved, her eyes stared, but there was nothing readable in her face. Anything she may have felt had been tucked behind heavy curtains and hidden from view.

"If you are asking for my oath as a Howe," he sighed. His bluff called. "You have it." He was not done living yet. And while he swore not to kill her, he had not sworn to do her no harm. There were other ways to claim revenge rather than death.

_Bide your time, Nathaniel._

His father's lessons would be put to use.

Her head dropped in a nod, accepting his oath. She took Nathaniel's hands in hers and used the dagger to slice at the ropes about his wrists, freeing him. "Do not make me regret this, Nathaniel." Some hint of vulnerability flashed across her face, but it quickly vanished. "I'm giving you the chance my family never had. Come."

There was more walking to be done. They continued on their path. When they stopped again, he was not sure if it was coincidence or… It was the doorway to his old room. "You can stay here," she said. "This had been yours before, yes?"

He found himself a bit taken aback by the offering. His voice cracked slightly, "Thank you, Elizabeth."

"_Commander," she snapped in response. "_And there is no need for thanks."

He snorted derisively as she spun on her heel and walked away. He could certain think of plenty of other names to call her, all of which would cause his plan to go astray.

_Bide your time, Nathaniel. And bide your tongue while you do it._


	5. In These Rooms

Elizabeth had left Nathaniel standing in the hallway, turning on heel to return to her own rooms. She did not trust herself. There were things she wanted to say, things she wanted to yell, so much kept hidden beneath a thin layer of resolve.

Ultimately, she knew what had happened to her family was not Nathaniel's fault. He was not even in Ferelden when it occurred. Still, in his face, she saw his father. In his name, she heard his father. He would be an ever-present reminder of the start of the end, the day her innocence was conscripted into the service of a purpose greater than her own. And yet, she conscripted Nathaniel, setting him on a path more similar to hers than she cared to admit. Orphans, they both had become. But friends again? The pull was there, a feather-touch of want for such friendship no matter how much might deny her need. Even in the harshness of his glare, even in the roughness of his speech, she saw reminders of happier times just out of reach. He knew her before everything broke and she had been reformed into an imperfect copy of the original.

But it was foolishness to grasp at such nonsense. The past was just that...the past.

Would they be friends again? She could not imagine a world in which that would be possible. Not now. Not with all that had happened.

Her rooms were not far from Nathaniel's. Once, they had been those of Rendon Howe, himself. There was a bitter irony to claiming these chambers as hers. She could only imagine the elation Howe felt the first time he stepped into her father's rooms and made them his. She had given Rendon Howe the same respect he bestowed upon her father, ordering anything personal in nature stripped from the room and burned. Only a few furnishings were to be left behind, practical pieces she could find use for and nothing more.

She had been at the Keep for no more than two days and already a pile of correspondence awaited her on the heavy desk in front of a set of windows. She would read them later.

As she let out a small sigh, Elizabeth slipped off her gauntlets and set them on a chair adjacent to the hearth. Fingers rose to unfurl the tightly spun buns at the nape of her neck. An honor to her mother, she had kept her hair in this style since leaving Highever.

Exhaustion tugged, demanding attention and sleep. There had been no time for rest in between fighting darkspawn and tending to urgent matters.

_Nathaniel…_

She had done enough thinking about him for one day. He was a Grey Warden now and he would either follow her command or not. To worry, to dwell on the matter, what good would it have done her?

A knock at the door brought a respite from her uncooperative thoughts. "Come in," she said, turning to face the doorway.

The wonderful thing about Oghren, or not so wonderful thing, was you could smell him coming. The rancid and sour smell of stale ale and urine cloyed heavily about him as if he has rolled about upon the floorboards of a tavern. He would never been known for subterfuge.

He stood in the doorway, his arms overflowing with armor. A battered looking bow hung from his shoulder, scraping against the ground as he entered the room. "Brought the stuff you asked for…." Oghren's shoulders rose and fell in an apologetic shrug. "Warden? Commander? What am I supposed to call you now? I'm a little mixed up with this whole becoming a Warden thing and silly surfacer titles and all that."

A mask of friendship drawn upon and worn, she smiled slightly for the dwarf, "Commander is fine, Oghren." He was the closest thing she had left to a true friend, the only person around that remembered Alistair.

If Oghren had died during the Joining…

Elizabeth was happy it had not turned out that way. She swept her hand in gesture to the desk. "Place it over here for a moment. I want to examine all of it."

Armor first and then bow were set atop the desk. Oghren rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. He always looked a little worn and rough around the edges, the alcohol doing its fair share to contribute to his sloven manner and hygiene. However, he appeared more tired and abused than usual. Something seemed off, different. He hooked his chin to the desk and the items atop it. "Well, this is all he had on according to those guards guarding him."

Leather armor, not the highest quality, but sufficient, it was a first glance appraisal of the gear before her. And the bow? It had seen much use. It was composite in build, that much she recognized from the brief lessons she received from her mother. And the nocking point of the bow had been ground down, presumably from much use. If he lasted, Nathaniel would need better gear.

Wet and grizzly, a cough cleared Oghren's throat. "You really think it was the best idea turning a Howe like that? Don't your families hate each other now or something?"

"Something like that I suppose, Oghren. Though Nathaniel has not actually done anything to my family." _Yet_, she thought but did not add. He had sworn on his family honor, an honor she did not believe existed any longer. She could only hope that he did and had been honest with her.

Her fingertips trailed over the leather, tracing the indentations within the hardened shell of the chest piece. She glanced to Oghren briefly. "Anyway, we came to an agreement." An agreement was a delicate way of putting things but all she was willing to offer.

"And you trust him? Cause you know, your brother has mentioned this sod before back in the army and he wasn't too impressed with him." More questions, more doubts voiced.

"No, Fergus would not be." Nathaniel and Fergus were three years apart in age. It had lead to quite the rivalry. Whenever the families got together before Nathaniel had left, Fergus would try to one up him. They would spar. They would play cards. The challenge mattered little. Only the outcome was of importance. To win. To lose. Boys would be boys and now, men would be men. To hear her brother had no affection for Nathaniel? This was no surprise at all. "You can take him these things, please. His room is two doors down."

She had let Nathaniel have his old rooms. She came to the Keep once as a teen. Nathaniel was not home at the time, having already been sent off to the Free Marches. Thomas gave her a tour of the Vigil, presumably as an excuse to get her alone. He made no secret of his intentions. Into the family's private quarters he brought her, the big man walking the halls of what he hoped to inherit, what he hoped to impress her with. He mentioned it only in passing, a glimmer of an afterthought, a mere hook of the thumb at a door.

_This is my brother's room._

She made note of it and snuck into the room later that night. She had been entirely too silly and young.

To let him stay where he once lived seemed a small kindness that would do her no harm to bestow, so she made the arrangements.

"Alright. You know I'm…" Oghren's face pinched as if he had more to say, but refrained. "Try to get some rest. You look like you've been sleeping in the dust for too long."

"Good night, Oghren," Elizabeth said, gaze drifting toward the window. Moonlight bathed the courtyard of the Keep in a downy embrace. Deceptive peace. Chaos would begin again in the morning, more repairs and improvements to be made. A never-ending list of tasks and jobs that seemed almost daunting and impossible. But for now, everything was quiet.

And she could not help but fear, was it simply a calm before yet another storm? Could she do this? Could she really be the Commander she was expected to be? Her chin dipped, lips touched with a sigh. Elizabeth did not know, but she would try. It was what her parents would want. It was what…

A whisper of a thought, an echo of a voice long gone but longed for: _You are the strong one, Elizabeth. You'll know what to do._

He had told her that once, before the Landsmeet where she made him King. So long in the past… Bit by bit, she was losing what little she had left of him. She could barely remember the feel of his mouth against hers, the warmth of his skin, or the sound of his laughter. Only pictures from the past remained in her mind, flashes of what had been that grew gauzier with each passing day. Her mind betrayed her, casting aside memories she wished to keep, to cherish. If she did not remember him, who would?

"Alistair," she said, hand rising to trace along the beveled surface of the window.

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Nathaniel stood in the hallway, lingering as he watched Elizabeth walk away. He listened for the close of a door, for her steps to cease. One minute, the time passed quickly and he heard what he waited for.

_Father's rooms…Of course._

Fingers twisted tightly about the knob of the door in front of him. She had… But what else should he have expected. She was Commander and it was only logical that she would take the largest rooms available. To the victor, went the spoils. Once again. He swallowed down his acrimony of the moment and tentatively opened the door to what had been his room, to what was to be his room again. Someone had lit a fire in the hearth and a few candles about the room. Small favors, he supposed. They were not being completely inhospitable, these intruders.

But so much had changed. Everything seemed smaller as if the room had been compressed and shrunk somehow, over the passage of time. All the life and personal touches had been removed, only a husk remained. Attempts had been made to erase any evidence that the Howes had resided here. It was no longer _his. _It was _hers._

Where they had once been lush tapestries, the wooden plank walls stood bare. A single chair sat in front of the hearth. The bear rug that had once lain there, gone. Another memory stolen, another possession of his pride removed. He had killed the bear on a hunt with his Father, the last hunt they went on together. The cabinet where he kept his bow supplies and daggers was also gone, only an empty spot left where it once sat.

He could only hope that Castle Cousland received a similar treatment by his father that Elizabeth's belongings were taken, ruined, stolen. To the victor went the spoils and perhaps letting him stay here was not a kindness after all. Instead, it was another way to show him how far he had fallen, how much he had lost at her hands.

But there was one secret, one thing of his that he hoped still remained. There is no way they could have known. It was his secret. It was his father's secret. He found the panel with no difficulty, the knot and other imperfections in the wood the key to his eye's search. Nimble fingers pressed down.

Click.

To the bed he moved next. A wall sconce adjacent to it tugged upon.

Click.

He knelt and looked at the baseboards. What had been smooth before was raised slightly. He pressed down, attempting to dislodge the loosened bit of wood. With some effort, he managed to pull the board aside.

_Never show anyone where you keep your secrets, son. They will use them against you if given the chance. _

All the private rooms in the Keep had such hiding places. His father had showed him this spot the year of his thirteenth birthday. Tentatively, his hand slid inside the narrow opening, unsure of what he might discover. But all was as he left it the day he was sent to the Free Marches. Small vials filled with a substance that had long since evaporated with only the milky film of what had been clinging to the insides of the glass, his first dagger and tenth birthday gift, and time nibbled letters were inside.

The paper of the letters had grown fragile, thin and covered in a fine layer of dust. His lips pursed, a breath exhaled to lightly blow the dust away. But before he could open the letters, and re-read the words of his past, a knock came to the door – loud and unwelcomed.

Quickly, he returned all of the rediscovered treasure back into its hiding place. He had just managed to stand when the door unceremoniously swung open.

The dwarf from earlier in the day stood in the doorway, his arms overflowing with items Nathaniel recognized – his armor and bow. "Hope I didn't interrupt nothing." The words were not sincere and it almost seemed as if the man was disappointed he had not caught Nathaniel in the midst of some nefarious or embarrassing deed. "Commander figured you'd want to wear something other than those fancy duds you're wearing now. Believe all this is yours." Two steps were into the room and then everything was dropped onto the floor at Oghren's feet. "Though not sure as I understand why she's letting you have your weapons back."

His tone flat, Nathaniel offered, "We came to an agreement." Arms crossed over his chest, an inspective eye roving over Oghren. He was wearing an armor Nathaniel had never seen before. Dwarven made? And then there was the smell. A drunk dwarf? There was a joke in there somewhere he lacked the humor to appreciate. If this was the quality of Grey Warden he was to battle alongside, he began to question if he had not indeed been sentenced to death after all.

Sarcasm dripped in Oghren's tone. "Riiight, an agreement. That's what she said. Well just know, I'll be watching you." Two fingers rose and motioned to his eyes then Nathaniel then back to his eyes.

Dry for dry, sardonic for sardonic, Nathaniel met Oghren's acerbic timbre with a match of his own, "I will keep that in mind." He gestured to the door, "If you don't mind, I would like to get some rest. I would hate to disappoint the Commander."

Oghren considered Nathaniel for a few moments before shrugging. "I'm sure you wouldn't." He went to leave, but stopped just shy of his exit to turn and say, "By the way, I'm Oghren, but you can call me Ser seeing as I've been a Grey Warden about ten hours longer than you and have seniority."

Nathaniel snorted, "Then if you will excuse me _Ser_, good night." He unfurled his arms and proceeded to the pile of his belongings, scooping them up from the ground. As he turned his back and started toward the bed, he heard the door slam shut behind him.

_Bide your time…_

Each item he had on his person at the time of his capture was present – bow, armor and his mother's necklace still hidden within the secret pocket inside the chest piece. His eyes closed, a sigh of relief coming to pass as he brushed his fingers along the delicate metal of the jewelry. He knew where he would keep it, where they would not find it. To his secret spot, he went, sliding the already loosened board aside. He set the heirloom atop the letters and then replaced everything as it had once been.

They had made him a stranger in his own home, reduced to hiding the few belongings he still possessed. The few things he could still find so that they too were not taken from him. He hated them all.

He walked over to the window and gazed down to the Courtyard below. There had been a time where it was filled with the happy sounds of children playing, the booming sound of his father's voice, the clatter and clang of arling business taking place. All of that was gone and he knew, he would never hear it again and for that he grew sad, letting the anguish overtake the anger.

"Father," he said, hand rising to trace along the beveled surface of the window.


	6. From Beneath You

Elizabeth did not sleep well. The new surroundings with the ghostly whispers of prior inhabitants, the endless list of urgent items that needed her tending and the ever-present nightmares simply would not allow her a restful evening's sleep.

She woke long before the dawn's rise and quietly slipped into her armor and headed to the Keep's dining hall. She was not surprised to find it already occupied by the newest Wardens. Each wore a similar expression to hers, dark circles framing their eyes and a troubled aura clinging stubbornly to their spirit.

No one had slept well. At least in that, she was not alone.

At some point, she knew she would need to sit down with the recruits and explain to them what the future held as a Grey Warden, explain to them the dreams, the hunger, the shortened timeline of their life expectancy. They would have the benefit of education she did not upon first becoming a Grey Warden. But for now, she lacked the energy or desire. There would be time enough later for such details later.

Anders, Nathaniel and Oghren all sat in some state of feasting on a morning's meal. There simply was not enough food to satiate their appetites. Bread, fruit, cheeses and a sundry of other food items littered the table in various states of consumption.

_I suppose they have learned about the hunger side effect…_

It would be one less thing for her to have to explain later. For once, the scales tipped in her favor even if by only an ounce of luck.

Both Nathaniel and Anders tried to avoid appearing too eager. Propriety and table manners seemingly held them back. Each bite was savored, it was easy to see, but was taken slowly. Elizabeth knew they would have preferred to shove every bit of food they could into their mouths for she had been the same way shortly after her Joining. But like her, they held back, clinging to the societal norms they had been bred to follow.

Oghren, however, benefited from an upbringing elsewhere and a simple lack of caring. He sloppily shoveled the food in his mouth, remnants dripping and clinging to his facial hair.

"Do they not teach table manners in Orzammar," Anders asked of Oghren, a look of disgust slashing across his face. "Is it really necessary to wear as much as you eat?"

Without missing a beat, Oghren said, "Aye, leaves me a snack for later." And as if to demonstrate the point, he plucked a piece of ham out of his beardstache and placed it into his mouth. Sweetness coated the smile sent in Anders direction.

The exchange should have touched her mouth with a slight smile, but it did not. She cleared her throat, announcing her presence to the trio. "We should be going. We have a full day ahead of us. We are heading to Amaranthine."

She knew she should eat. Oghren's display of the disgusting aside, she had no want to do so. The hunger was there, but the ability to eat was not. Even the sweetest of apples tasted sour and bland upon her tongue and the effort to swallow painstakingly arduous. Still, she tore chunk of bread from a loaf and forced a bit of it down with a strained swallow.

They went to the courtyard of the Keep fully intent upon going to Amaranthine. Not all things go according to plan, Elizabeth had learned. This day was to be no different.

Before they neared the Keep's gates, they were stopped by a Captain. Darkspawn were expected to have invaded the Vigil from within the bowels of the fortress, the deep cellars. A portion of these cellars had caved in, no thanks to Dwarven explosives. The damage was unknown and the number of new entrances opened into the Deep Rounds undetermined. It would require investigation.

And like that, plans changed. The Keep was a priority. She needed a base from which to organize her forces. If it was compromised, there would be no hope. Amaranthine would have to wait another day.

Men worked a good portion of the morning to clear the fallen rock and debris so that Elizabeth and the others could survey the cellars. Into the bowels beneath the Keep they traversed. At first, they met with no resistance. Only dust, forgotten items and dimly lit corridors awaited their arrival. The first hint of life came shortly into their trip. A mabari laid upon the stone floor, sick and hurt. Its breathing was shallow, strained.

Another loss, another recollection she could do without. Images of her own mabari, her companion and friend since early childhood, invaded her thoughts. He had died at the gates of Denerim. Overrun by darkspawn, Canes had fought honorably, she was told. They found her friend atop a dead Emissary. Canes died in Elizabeth's arms.

She took a knee next to the injured animal and slid a gauntlet off her hand. Fingers pressed gently into its blood-matted fur, petting the mabari in an attempt to comfort. Like Canes had been, this dog was far too gone to be saved. Her chest hollowed as she felt the rise and fall of its chest cease. No one deserved to die alone.

She would not cry.

Her eyes closed, lids pressing firmly down. One, two… The numbers counted in her mind, emotion swallowed down and exhaled in a simple breath of air. There were still darkspawn to find, a cellar to investigate. As she reopened her eyes, control maintained, she noticed a note tied about the animal's neck. She freed the parchment and read the contents aloud. A woman, an Adria was alive deep within the cellars.

"Adria! She was like a mother to me. We must save her," Nathaniel declared. But Elizabeth knew if this woman had been trapped below for any period of time, there was no saving her. She was already gone. Ruck, Hespith, there were not many alternatives to survival when trapped amongst the darkspawn. For Adria and Nathaniel's sake, she hoped Adria had long since perished and only a corpse would be found.

They pushed on. Room after room they passed. Letters, trunks, statues, nooks and crannies examined and items retrieved to be examined later.

Ghouls, shrieks, the signs were all there. Darkspawn taint persisted through the rooms they traveled.

A locked door blocked their path. Nathaniel had proven his skills, prying locks open with his deft maneuverings. The door opened, the room exposed was one he had been forbidden to enter as a child. The secrets within were unknown. Darkness pervaded, inky tendrils of black spreading generously throughout the cavernous room. Magics had been placed upon the torches, wisps of light flicker to life as the first footsteps landed atop the stairwell landing. An uneasiness sung along Elizabeth's spine. There was something off in this room. It did not feel…right.

She further advanced into the room, her treading careful, tentative. Step by step, the group descended down the stairwell until they stood in circle on the lower level. Her head craned back, a gaze cast upward. Still nothing and no one approached. The feeling in her gut did not cease, a tickle of wrongness spreading throughout her body. Everything stood on end…prepared.

_Not darkspawn but…_

Skeletons came from nowhere, messengers of eerie death and haunting. What souls had been trapped in the bowels of the cellar only to rise now in an effort to guard hidden treasures? She did not know and she did not care. Metal cleaved, arrows flew, the frantic melody of combat wafted in the air as the group engaged their foe.

So many moved toward her, surrounding her in a sea of white and silver, metal and bone, rage and death. She spun about, a whirlwind of a maneuver, all those about her struck with the sharpened edges of her weapons. Bones chipped, creatures fell and it was done.

Her chest heaved as if she had forgotten to breathe until the battle had completed. Fingers curled possessively about the hilts of her weapons, nerves still afire with adrenaline. There was breath upon her neck, warm, unexpected. The last time she had felt that… She turned quickly. Face to face, she came with Nathaniel. A glint sparked in his eyes. Malice? Excitement? She was unsure.

"My father liked to protect his treasures," he said. A step back was taken by Elizabeth, space put between the pair.

He caught her off guard and she nodded simply.

There was more searching and retrieval of items that might find use for later before they continued on, driving deeper into the bowels of the Vigil. Around a corner they went, the building shattered, fractured pieces of wall and ceiling littered along the ground framing a hole within the wall – the exit out, the way in into the ground below. An entrance to the Deep Roads? It had to be where they darkspawn had come from.

Focus landed upon a woman stood at the mouth of the entrance, her back to them. She leaned forward, half bent at the waist, her spine curved uncomfortably, twisted. She turned slowly, a flash of her profile revealing ghoulish features marred black – the mark of the taint spattered against her skin and the whites of her eyes.

It was as Elizabeth feared.

_Hespith…_

_Ruck…_

There would be no saving this woman, she was gone. Steps involuntarily taken down the path of… A path no woman would seek to go down.

Nathaniel stood frozen at Elizabeth's side. His expression paled. Pain, confusion, horror - a swirl of emotions seemingly overtaking him. Connections were not made or understood. This was a woman from his past, his childhood. Sorrow touched his tone, a beg underlying his words, "No. No, Adria… We have to help her. There must be some way… Adria?"

"I'm…sorry, Nathaniel. She is no longer Adria." Elizabeth tried to sound compassionate. She tried. She had spoken those words too many times as of late.

_I am sorry, Mhairi._

_I am sorry, Eamon._

_I am sorry, Alistair._

The words had begun to lose their meaning, formed more out of habit than feeling.

She was sorry, though. She had meant what she said. Adria had been important to Nathaniel and regardless of Elizabeth's feelings for his father, she would not wish this on him, the pain of having to kill someone he cared for, of having to watch them die before his eyes.

No time more time was given for apologies. A final battle they fought, only stopping when the last monster fell, Adria slumped upon the ground, the borrowed life filling her veins ceased. It was no small mercy bestowed upon the woman. Elizabeth could only hope that Nathaniel would understand.

A final examination by Voldrick, the dwarf mason, revealed an entrance to the Deep Roads. More men, more time, more resources, more need… Elizabeth ordered it done. They would need to find a way to seal up this hole, to stop the inflow of darkspawn into the Keep.

Elizabeth had lost track time while cloistered in the cellars. Evening had begun its approach by the time they re-entered the courtyard to the Keep. Blood, sweat and exhaustion clung to their skin, causing sluggish steps and downcast expressions. Everyone had fought well, even Nathaniel. But there was so much more to be done. This day had been only a taste of what was to come, she feared.

She excused everyone for the evening, sending them to their rooms to rest, relax and clean up. The next day they would try again to head to Amaranthine should nothing deter them and she hoped it did not. She would welcome a reason to leave the Keep, to be outdoors in the sunlight.

More work awaited her in her rooms. Correspondence needed replies. Orders required her signature. Items gathered during the day needed her examination.

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Nathaniel closed the door behind him and leaned against it. A heavy sigh formed, tinged in sorrow, anger and confusion. He knew what he had seen. The images would not leave his mind. But he did not understand it. He told himself that creature, that thing, it was not Adria. Whatever had happened down in the cellars had changed her, forever wiping out the soul of the woman he knew and loved like a mother.

Adria was the one, after his mother died, that was there to wipe the tears and offer the comfort his father would not. Adria looked after Nathaniel and his siblings and now, like all the others, she was gone.

The bruise of her passing hurt more than he had expected. It had been his arrow that served as the killing blow. She might have even appreciated that, if she had been able to see what she had become.

But it did not change the fact that he killed her and his actions amounted to no more than putting down a rabid dog. He was disgusted with himself.

His armor could not come off fast enough. Buckles and straps were tugged with urgency to ply the leather protective gear from his body. He did not wish to wear Adria's blood any longer, to see the reminder of his criminal mercy. He would clean it later after he had time to adjust to the idea of her passing, of his…actions.

His skin, though, that was another story. A glance in the mirror showed splashed of the dried fluid upon his neck and face. Still unclothed, he walked to the small basin in the room and poured water from the pitcher within it. Cool. It might help snap him out of his solace. He splashed the water across his face and looked into the mirror above the vanity.

The water beaded across his face and fell in a drip-drop. The circles about his eyes betrayed his tiredness. He had not slept well. He dreamt of horrors he could only have imagined in his darkest nightmares. Twisted creatures, scorched land, the smell of rotted meat, each picture, sound and smell felt so real, so vivid. He was not eager to relive the experience.

Another spatter of water, the final bits of blood dissolved, his skin succeeding where his conscience had not – it was clear.

Air, he needed air. He slipped into the only other set of clothing he possessed, the rags given to him upon his capture. And looking down at the pants as he slipped them on, he couldn't help but wonder: _Who did these belong to at one time? Thomas? My father?_

He left his room and started down the hallway. The doors to his father's…Elizabeth's room were open. A peek inside, brief and fleeting, revealed her sitting behind the desk. She appeared engrossed in the papers laid out before her, reading.

He had questions for her, about being a Grey Warden. Perhaps she could shed light about the dreams. Where they normal? Or simply, _what_ was normal? But to speak to her now… No, he was not ready. Too much anger still boiled close to the surface, barely restrained with an exercise in self-control. What Adria had become was not Elizabeth's fault. Logically, he knew this. However, he could not help but fault her.

If she had not killed his father…

If his father had been here…

Maybe the keep would not have fallen.

Maybe the Grey Wardens would not have been here and the darkspawn would have chosen a different location to attack.

Maybe he would not have had to pierce her chest with an arrow.

So many possibilities played in his head, so many paths that could have resulted in Adria still living. And somehow, it all began at a single fork in the road – the moment Elizabeth Cousland played judge and executioner in the dungeons of an estate in Denerim.

And he still needed air.

He lingered a breath too long. "Nathaniel, come in." She had seen him. A neutral gaze found his as she peered at him, the papers she had been reading set aside.

A trap he was not aware had been set and ensnared him. "Your wish is my command."

Something in her expression changed, eyes narrowing upon him, the corners of her mouth tugging down. What could he have possibly done now to merit such a look of displeasure? He walked into the room, taking the first look around since having left all those years in the past.

So much had changed. As his room no longer was _his, _his father's rooms received a similar treatment. Anything personal had been removed. He swallowed down the snort that bubbled in his throat at the remodeling. He did not wish to fight as it would only prolong his stay.

Elizabeth rose from behind the desk and circled toward the front, and leaned against it, arms crossed. She had changed out of her armor, wearing a pair of baggy pants and a loose fitting linen shirt. The garments swallowed her, entirely too big for her small frame. The words of his father entered his mind: _Women playing at being men._

Her head inclined to the side, as in consideration before she said, "You fought well today."

He had fought well, though he had been tempted to let his arrows miss. He could not be held accountable should Elizabeth fall in battle. But something had held him back, something made him fight honestly and with honor. And she had fought well, too. He had not thought it possible, but had felt a touch impressed at her sword skills. "You sound surprised."

"Perhaps I am…" Perhaps they both had astonished the other.

His tone dry, "Sorry to disappoint then."

"It was not disappointing, Nathaniel." There was something guarded within her eyes; something unspoken but hinted at and just beyond his reach of understanding. She continued, "I found some things that belonged to your family and I thought you might like to have them." She pushed away from the desk and walked toward the bed. She retrieved a bow from atop the bed. "I'm afraid the bow is broken, but I thought… I thought you might like to have it." An offering held in her hands, she gestured for him to get it.

He should have noticed it before. Was he not been present when it was found? He was there, but he had not connected the dots at the time. He knew the bow in an instant. Never had he seen one like it in its life, the artisanship extraordinary. "This was my grandfather's bow or at least my grandfather was the last to use it. It was originally made for an ancestor during the Exalted Marches," he explained as he took the weapon from her. "I had thought it lost." He had thought he would never see it again.

_That is a not for you, Nathaniel. Give it to me, now._

Elizabeth's expression remained neutral. A shrug upon her shoulders, she said, "Well, it appears broken. I'm sorry."

He shook his head. If the rumors were true… "Not broken. I heard that only a Howe can enable the enchantment. I… It's good to have something of my family again. Something to be proud of." He was unsure what else to say. The gesture was kinder than he could have expected. She did not have to return the bow to him. She could have easily tossed it aside and never made mention of having found it. But here it sat, in his hands and was now…his. "I thank you."

Her tone lacked any warmth of kindness, utterly impassive and indifferent. Yet another shrug graced her shoulders. "You needed a better bow and now you have one."

That was how it was to be? Perhaps the gesture had not had the intent he first presumed. To draw him in, to weaken his resolve, that could have been the true meaning. For a moment, he had thought… No, he would not think it again. "Ah yes, of course, _Commander._ If that is all?_"_

"Nathaniel..." Awkwardly, her hand extended as if to touch him, but pulled back just shy of completion and fell to her side, tugging nervously at the fabric along her hips. "I'm sorry about Adria."

It was an olive branch extended. A gate edged open, a small crack of an opening. He would not step through. He had made that mistake once already. He was no fool. "Yes, you said that already once today."

What had gone lax grew tight, her expression hardening. Lips press together firmly. "We will be leaving early in the morning. I expect you to have that bow in working order. You are dismissed."

"As you wish." He dipped his head in an overly formal nod. "Good evening, Commander." He could not get out of this room fast enough.

And he still needed air.


	7. Casting Shadows

Elizabeth had managed to usher everyone out of the Vigil at an early enough hour that she was able to avoid distractions. For once, she wanted to do what she had set out to do and not be forced upon another path of action by the desires and pleas of others. It was petty and selfish, but she needed to have something go the way she planned.

It took most of the day to walk to Amaranthine from the Vigil. The journey was uneventful and mostly quiet, save a few comments here and there between Oghren and Anders.

Elizabeth was not sure what to expect when they arrived at Amaranthine. A bustling city? A desolated ruin? She found something between the extremes. Husks of buildings, doors missing, windows broken, bits and pieces of outer walls crumbled away, the portions of Amaranthine that bordered the city gate appeared to be in disrepair. Some houses stood sturdy and were of use, but a great many were abandoned and left to rot. Elizabeth frowned at the scenery. If this was what the outskirts of the city looked like, what would be waiting for her within the shelter of the gates?

They pressed on, making inquiries along the way about the man, Colbert, she had been told to find. Darkspawn were her highest priority. Trade, food, politics, none of it would matter if the darkspawn succeeded in their attacks.

Eventually, they were lead in the proper direction and found Colbert. He stood in the cobbled courtyard outside a home just before the main entrance to the city. He greeted her with clever come-ons and smarmy stares. "Looking for some company, honey-pie? I'm always available for riveting conversations with fine women."

It was to be one of _those_ conversations. Irritation flashed across her features and coated her tone, "I'll rivet you to the floor if you call me that again." A muffled snicker echoed behind her. She turned her head and saw Anders clutching his hand to his mouth. His shoulders rolled in a shrug of innocence.

"I like a woman who is all business," Colbert mused as Elizabeth turned her aggravated attentions back to the man.

Straight and to the point, she cut off his suggestiveness with a roll of the eyes and a dash of intimidation in her voice. "I just want to know about the Deep Roads entrance you found."

"I can't take all the credit for finding it. Micah here fell in first." Colbert let off a nervous laugh as he gestured to the elf at his side.

Her patience teetered on the verge of collapse. She did not have time for small talk and chit-chat. "Just tell me what happened."

He told her about the huge cleft in the earth, how the darkspawn were preoccupied with something and showed no interest in the two of them, and where to find the chasm. It was far from the Vigil, a couple day's journey to the west. They would have to investigate, but not on this day. More business awaited them within the city gates.

Deep beneath the city, at the mouth of an underwater river, smugglers had set up camp. The small party cleared out the caves, for the good of the city, and made their way back to the streets above and the inn.

Elizabeth was exhausted.

Inside the inn, they procured rooms for the night and learned about Kristoff. He had stayed there but had not been seen a week. Kind enough fellow, married and loyal, he spoke of darkspawn that seemed to have a purpose and almost appeared to want to be caught. Survey of his room and belongings revealed his possible location – the Blackmarsh.

Elizabeth was being pulled in too many directions. At least during the Blight, they had a singular purpose. There were treaties to look after and everything else just seemed to follow. But here in Amaranthine, everything was so scattered and chaotic. It was hard to focus upon a single task. Too many voices spoke in her head, each wishing to garner her full attention. Her tenuous hold upon things would break at any moment. She just knew it.

She sent the others downstairs to enjoy a meal and relax and planned to join them in a little bit.

"I need to check on something." It was little more than an empty excuse.

The panic had set in, slowly creeping across her skin, threatening to overwhelm her entirely. Elizabeth walked with rapid step to her room and closed the door behind her. In between gasping breaths, she paced. She was drowning in shallow waters. If only she could swim those last few strokes to push her head above water, to breathe unencumbered. If only _his_ hand had been there to pull her to shore.

But Alistair wasn't here. He died. She did not. He took the easy way out and left her to pick up the pieces. He killed himself for her and left her with the responsibility of making that sacrifice worth something, mean something. She hated him. She loved him. She missed him.

Deep pulls of air were drawn in slowly, bringing a calmness. To get upset and lose control would have done little good and she did not have time for such self-indulgence. Hands moved to smooth back her hair, nudging any stray strands back into place. A glance in the mirror betrayed no sign of her moment of weakness.

A countdown of sorts played in her head as fingers curled about the doorknob. She steeled her willpower and pushed open the door. A masquerade of reality, everything concealed and tucked behind a thin and impassive veneer.

Oghren, Anders and Nathaniel were already downstairs when she arrived. Flagons in various states of consumption sat atop Oghren and Ander's table. They bantered back and forth, something that was becoming the norm for the pair. And even with the disgusted stares that were exchanged between the pair, even between the pointed barbs and blatant put-downs, she saw a friendship developing.

Perhaps it was good they had found one another, polar opposites that fit together in a way that felt just right. Camaraderie softened what must be done. To have another to speak to about things only they could understand, to know that there was another experiencing the same things, it softened the press of duty and honor.

Nathaniel sat in a corner, the shadows his only company. Long fingers wrapped about the cup before him, his eyes cast in a far away stare. He had distanced himself from the other Wardens, from her. It had not been hard to notice.

He fought admirably, but always from far away. A blanket of subterfuge enveloped him in battle and he only appeared when necessary to fire his bow at his target. He ate his meals alone and on the way to Amaranthine and trailed two steps behind and three steps from an escape. Yet he stayed. He was a puzzle she could not quite piece together.

Between the two tables, she looked. To sit with what was quickly becoming a dastardly duo or...

More fun could be had with Oghren and Anders. She could wrap herself up in a blanket of purposeful forgetfulness and let the humor embrace her. Laughter could serve as an excellent tonic, should she allow it. But something felt wrong with smiling and laughing. A brief respite would only leave her feeling guilty later.

And then there was Nathaniel. Something drew her toward him. The lingerings of past memories and wishes of a small girl, perhaps. Or maybe it was the similarities they shared. They both lost their parents and had the world they lived in collapse beneath their feet. They both suffered in silence.

He hated her. She could see it in the way he watched her. She couldn't blame him that.

There had been letters found in the Deep cellars, missives from his father and his sister. She had kept them, knowing at some point she would share the pages with Nathaniel. His sister's letters might bring him some relief. They implied she could still be alive. Had someone possessed such news about Fergus during the Blight, Elizabeth would have wanted to know of it.

She hoped his father's letters might help tarnish the shine of infallibility around Nathaniel's memories of the man. They spoke of his actions against the Couslands and the treachery that was to come. There could be no denying his father's part in the massacre of her family, not after reading the letter.

She moved to his table, hands moving to rest against the back of a chair.

Her presence roused him from his introspection. Annoyance tinged his tone. She was not who he wanted to see, that much was obvious. "Yes?"

She nudged the chair forward a touch. "Do you mind?"

He snorted, "Does it matter?"

"I…" If he would have only met her half way… She shook her head and took a seat. "I suppose it doesn't, but I did have something I wished to give you."

"That is?"

She dug the letters out of the satchel at her side. "These. They're your father's and your sister's."

"I see." He unfurled his fingers from about his mug and reached forward for the missives. Back and forth he flipped them between his hands. His mouth twisted into a pronounced frown as he looked back to Elizabeth, "I suppose you have read these already."

A simple nod followed by a response. "I have. That's how I knew who had written them."

The coolness of his gaze remained on her briefly before refocusing upon the letters in his grasp. She watched in silence as his eyes darted along the contents of the letters. She searched for any change in his expression, any hint of emotion. But none were forthcoming.

He remained inscrutable until he came to his father's letter. The reaction she wished did not come. Fires of grey stared at her, his demeanor roiling in clenched speech and the errant flip of paper in his hand. "You think this letter will convince me of my father's misdoings?"

Elizabeth rubbed her eyes with a weary hand. "Nathaniel, I do not wish to fight." She had only wanted him to understand. To make things easier, not harder.

His shoulders rolled back and arms crossed over his chest, body language screaming of hostility. "Yet you throw the first punch, Commander."

In a way, she had to admit, she had wanted his father's letters to sting, at least a little bit. To leave him feeling a portion of the bite she felt upon reading them. But she also wanted him to recognize that his father had flaws, that he was guilty of heinous crimes. "You don't have to hate me, you know?"

Sarcasm took hold of his lips, twisting them in a sneer of a smile. "Is that an order?"

"No." Exasperated, she left her seat. This conversation was not going as she had hoped and continuing it would only lead down roads best untraveled. She paused her retreat, a final thing to say. "You should know, Nathaniel, I am not sorry for what I did to your father. He deserved to die. I am sorry, however, that my actions hurt you. "

It was a lie, at least somewhat. A part of her did regret taking justice into her own hands.

If he had stood trial, all could have seen the man for the monster that he had become. All would have heard what happened to her family. There would be no whispers, no second guessing his death. He would have died a traitor to the crown and Ferelden.

_I deserved more…_

He had deserved more: a hangman's noose or the executioners axe with all the citizens of Denerim present to watch.

Hating Nathaniel would have made things simpler and relieved some of the pressure upon her conscience. But what had he done to earn her hatred? Nothing but bear the name of Howe. He did not deserve to suffer for his father's crimes any more than Anora had for Loghain's. Yet, she did hate him for standing by his father's memory and for the guilt he tried to make her feel when none was merited.

And as she walked up the stairs and back to her room, she had to admit that she hated him just a little less than before.

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The lesser of two evils was Nathaniel's roommate for the night – Anders. Only two rooms had been available at the Inn. Elizabeth and Oghren took one room and Nathaniel and Anders had the other. He supposed he should be grateful that he got the mage rather than the dwarf. At least he knew that belching and flatulence would not duel with the nightmares to see which would keep him awake at night. Instead, he had to contend with the overly chatty and narcissistic mage.

In hopes that it might silence the talking beast, Nathaniel let Anders take the bed and he opted for a chair. It was hardly comfortable, but he had slept on far worse surfaces in the last few months. A small blanket his only covering, he huddled beneath it and attempted to get some sleep.

"So, I've been meaning to ask you, Nate. Can I call you Nate?"

He should have taken the bed. A gruff sigh expelled, he said, "No. My name is Nathaniel." He shifted upon the chair, repositioning himself so that his head could rest along the top. "If that is all, I'd like to try to get some sleep."

"Right, Nate it is then. " The bed creaked beneath Anders as he rolled over onto his side, an elbow pressing into the blankets so that he could prop his head up with his hand. "You knew the Commander as a child, right?"

Nathaniel pressed his palms into his eyes. "You already know the answer to that question, Anders."

"You got me there." The sound that followed some might have classified as laughter, but to Nathaniel, it sounded unpleasant and only furthered the slow simmer of his irritation. "Anyway, you happen to know what type of flowers she likes? Ladies like flowers and all that and I thought she might want some to make that dreary room of hers more bright. I like flowers. Do you like flowers? Gardenias. Posies. Roses." Anders paused, a brief respite from his verbal meanderings. His eyes gazed up at the ceiling, as if he was counting off species of flowers within his head.

But the quiet did not remain. Anders continued, "Which do you think she'd prefer?"

The inharmonious rumblings of a belch would have been more welcome than the sounds coming from Anders' mouth. Nathaniel rose from the chair. He was not going to dignify the man with any sort of response.

"Maybe not flowers. Maybe a plant…"

There were many ways Nathaniel could have silenced Anders. His hands could be about the mage's neck in seconds. A quick snap was all it would have taken. But he was annoyed, tired and not about to kill a man for being an aggravating ass.

"Something nice and leafy... Something to match her eyes."

He took the path of least resistance. The door slammed behind Nathaniel as he left Anders to his ponderings.

Sleep was not to happen tonight and perhaps it was for the best. The nightmares were not something he looked enjoyed .He found an isolated corner in the upstairs portion of the inn and sat amongst the kegs and casks. It appeared to be a storage room. He slid down the wall and sat upon the floor, knees bent, feet pressed into the wood beneath.

This was more like it – quiet and secluded. He could hear his own thoughts.

He dug into a pocket and withdrew the letters Elizabeth had given him earlier in the evening. His thumb slid across the velum, feeling the grain of the parchment. He father had always preferred paper with some meat to it, "sturdy stock" as he called it.

What had Elizabeth hoped to achieve by giving him this particular letter. To make him feel guilty for the actions of his father? To make him apologize for something he had not done? To simply make him feel bad? She claimed to be sorry that her actions hurt him, but yet she continued to temper acts of kindness with cool malice.

She was a woman of many contradictions. The kind and caring always found quick counterpoint in the distant and hard. She was a puzzle he could not quite put together.

In the dim light of the storage room, he managed to re-read a few words upon the parchment as if he might find some meaning in her intention in the scribblings.

_If even one of them informs Cousland, it will be your head on a plate…_

His father was indeed responsible for the events at Highever. There could be no denying that. But Bryce Cousland had been conspiring with the Orlesians. Surely, he had deserved what happened. The others, however…

Nathaniel wanted to believe his father had reasons for why the other deaths were necessary, why they happened at all. Collateral damage? Men that were too eager in their charge? He could not conceive of a world where his father would willfully demand the execution of an entire family. It was not possible.

But yet, that was what Elizabeth wished Nathaniel to believe, what she wished him to know. In her mind, that was exactly what Rendon Howe had done – exterminated her entire family. If Nathaniel could have only spoken to him, if he could have discovered the truth, surely his father would have been found as innocent of the most grievous accusations.

And now, they would never know. He would never know.

His head pressed into the tops of his knees, posturing growing slack, everything melting into a puddle of regret. The foolish actions of a teenage boy, a parent's demand of exile to the Free Marches in punishment, a point plotted long in the past leading to a present filled with sadness, hatred and remorse.

While blame for his father's death fell easily at Elizabeth's feet, Nathaniel placed equal blame upon himself. If he had not been sent away… If he had been the son his father wanted… If he had done what he was told… He could have stopped the wheels of time from turning down its tragic path. He could have tried.

What would his father have said if he saw his son, the Grey Warden, fighting side by side with his murderer?

_Avenge me._

He would find a way to prove to his father that he was worth of being called a Howe. He would make up for the errors of the past by righting the present. All he had to do was find a way.


	8. Friends Like These

The courtyard of the Keep was bustling with activity as the Wardens returned from Amaranthine. Elizabeth expected to see things busy, but this was a whole other level of chaotic that surprised her. Carriages, horses, and a great deal of attendants filled the courtyard. Visitors? She was told nothing of this.

The heavy doors to the main hall parted, granting Elizabeth and the others entry. The low hum of speaking came to an abrupt halt at her appearance. Men, women and their servants filled the hall. All eyes turned upon her, trailing her slow and steady path toward the dais and Varel.

"What's going on Varel?" She gave a scrutinizing look to the Seneschal. "Who are all these people and why are they here?"

Varel bowed to Elizabeth and said, "Commander, the Lords of Amaranthine have come to swear fealty to you and the Grey Wardens. These were Arl Rendon Howe's vassals and now they will be yours."

Her brow wrinkled at the mention of Howe. These people were… "So these are Howe's people?" This reception would not go well, she was sure of it.

Varel shifted atop the dais, the subject matter delicate and seemingly awkward to him. "Some of these lords bore Rendon no love, but others had their prospects ruined with his demise."

It was not surprising to hear some of Howe's vassals did not care for him. If he exhibited just one small portion of the evil she personally witnessed within his own Arling… "I understand. Give me a few moments and then the ceremony may begin."

She would have liked to freshen up, to clean the dust and dirt off her face, to even simply comb her hair. But, that would not be possible and perhaps it was for the best. The Lords of Amaranthine should see her as she was, a Grey Warden.

She walked over toward Anders, Oghren and Nathaniel. "These people are here to swear fealty to me and our order. Be good or I cannot promise I will be such later this evening."

The cat that caught the mouse. Nothing good could come of the smile that so easily pounced upon Anders' mouth, "Is that a promise?"

But it was not to Anders that Elizabeth looked as she responded simply, "Yes." Her gaze fell upon Nathaniel. A warning given. Whatever brewed between them, the hatred, the tension, she did not want it interfering with the event.

Elizabeth had been to a fealty ceremony just once during her youth. Her father thought it a good idea to make both of his children attend to glean something from the experience. The faces that looked expectant up to the Teyrn, however, were far kinder than those that met her on this day. There was a distinct lack of warmth in the gazes affixed upon her as she walked away from the other Wardens and took her place on the dais next to Varel. No one was outwardly rude to her or scowled in her general direction. Nobility had other ways to show their disdain than something as pedestrian as a dirty look. Polite indignation touched upon the upward tilts of their false smiles. These people were not eager to declare their fealty to a Grey Warden and they made no effort to disguise their antipathy.

She nodded to Varel, motioning to begin the ceremony.

And so Varel commenced, "Lords and Ladies, I present the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine. Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine, as is old custom, you have the honor of beginning."

A sour looking woman, one Elizabeth vaguely recognized from an event at Highever and _the_ Landsmeet stepped forward to give her oath. "I promise that I, Bann Esmerelle, will be faithful to the Arlessa on all matters of life, limb, and earthly honor." An overly formal bow performed, Esmerelle continued, "Never will I bear arms against her or her heirs. So I say in the sight of the Maker."

Others followed, all giving the same oath, all bowing and smiling and seemingly acting as if they were honorable and loyal vassals to their new Arlessa. Doubt hovered like a stubborn cloud determined not to let the sun shine through. These people, some had supported Howe in his actions against Highever. Some of them profited from the destruction of her family. There was an urge in Elizabeth to ferret out these individuals and show them the cost of their loyalty. She had run Howe through with little mercy. Surely, she could do the same to them.

Common sense, however, nipped at her heels, reminding her that this was not the time or place for such self-indulgence. There were far greater matters at hand than satiating her vengeful side. Punishing these people would do little to bring back all that she had lost.

If they swore to her and were loyal, she would let their prior crimes pass. It seemed like what her father would have wanted her to do.

_A show of mercy, pup, is the noblest thing you can do. _

As the last Lord swore their oath, she moved from the dais and proceeded to mingle. Bann Eddlebrek was especially interested in a private audience. Her father had always spoken highly of the man. He was master of the Feravel Plains and controlled a great deal of farmland. This was one lord she suspected had not sided with Howe and to him, she gave a warm and genuine smile.

He spoke of the dire situation on the plains. Peasants were starving. The cities had their silos of wheat but for how long and at what cost? The farmlands needed military support to help fight back the surge of darkspawn. Without the harvest, the entire Arling could be at risk.

It was a tale she had heard before. All around, each lord had a story to tell, a hand to put out in need. But Elizabeth's first concern was the darkspawn threat. Food was not necessary there was no one left to feed.

And though she gave the majority of her attention to Lord Eddelbrek, she could not help but notice the company Nathaniel was keeping. Bann Esmerelle had sidled up to his side and was chatting amicably with him. Nerves inflamed, a warning rising in the pit of her stomach, she did not trust Bann Esmerelle. To see her speaking with Rendon Howe's son… She could only hope that Nathaniel felt more loyal to his new home with the Grey Wardens than his old.

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Nathaniel was to be present for the fealty ceremony, Elizabeth had insisted. Was she going to demand that he, too, step before her and kowtow like a servant? He had witnessed these ceremonies before, his father having been insistent on his attendance.

_Someday, this may be your responsibility, Nathaniel. Listen, learn and do not disappointment me._

He found these gatherings boring when he was a young man and doubly so now that they had no real meaning to him. Useless words said by useless Banns that allowed his father to die. With the winds, their loyalties changed. And now, they would bow to a murderer and pledge their honor to her.

It disgusted him.

He stood alone and off to the side. The last thing he wanted to do was mill about and socialize with these opportunists. Their fake smiles and overly polite language did not fool him. He was nothing more than a relic of the past, put on display for all the nobles to see. The last of his line, a noble cast out, banished. There but by the grace of the Maker went thee.

He hovered near the unpleasant portrait of his mother. Why of all the things taken from the Keep during its current occupation that painting remained, he did not know. It was a good picture of her, she seemed more attractive than he remembered. He liked to imagine that perhaps at one time she might have been pretty, but he always suspected his father married her more out of convenience than appreciation for her beauty. Rendon Howe received promise of heirs and coin in the marriage and her family received the privilege of titles by proxy. All together it was an agreeable arrangement.

Even through the veil of disdain cloaking Nathaniel, he had to admit that Elizabeth presented as a natural at this, conversing with the betters of Ferelden. She drifted through the crowds effortlessly, appearing to know just the right thing to say to elicit a favorable response. She had been bred for this life much as Nathaniel had, but seemed to have taken to her training far more successfully.

She spent quite a bit of time with Bann Eddelbrek. Pleas for this and pleas for that were no doubt the subject of their conversation.

"Why if it isn't Nathaniel Howe." Bann Esmerelle stood at Nathaniel's side, having approached him during his distraction of watching Elizabeth. "We had thought you gone and now I hear you are a Grey Warden. Is this true?"

Bann Esmerelle had always been a favorite of his father's. Bann of Amaranthine, she was incredibly wealthy, one of his father's closest confidants, and spent a lot of time at the Keep as he remembered. "That does appear to be my fate," he said flatly. He turned slightly to face the woman more directly. "And now it appears we both owe our livelihood to the Commander of the Grey."

The slow upturn of the Bann's mouth in smile appeared calculating and barbed as she glanced in Elizabeth's general direction. "So it would seem. Bryce Cousland's daughter seems to have done well for herself considering the circumstances. And to think, she was almost the Queen. "

"So I have heard." Nathaniel's response was bland. Her reward for killing his father could have been a crown.

A delicate hand rose and touched his arm lightly. Her expression softened, a sadness encroaching. "I was sorry to hear about your father's unfortunate death. He was a dear…friend."

Nathaniel's gaze drifted back to Elizabeth, lingering upon her. Unfortunate was a delicate way of putting murder. An acerbic bite overtook his lips, a sneer of a smile twisting to life. The noble class had quite the ability to make the most horrible things sound untimely rather than devastating. "Yes, well being murdered can be quite…inconvenient."

"How is that you came into the Commander's service if I might ask?" Her voice dropped an octave, a tone intended for privacy. "Given the history of your two families, I would not have expected to find you in her company."

His shoulders rose and fell in a simple shrug. "I was conscripted."

"Mmmm, I see." Esmerelle's attention wavered and shifted from Nathaniel to across the room. Oghren stood alone next to a keg of ale. "I remember the dwarf from the coronation. He is her friend, is he not?"

Nathaniel nodded, disgust in his tone as he answered, "Yes. He fought with her during the Blight." Oghren was foul, had horrible manners and was generally lacking when it came to his hygiene. The waters had yet to warm between the pair after their first encounter in Nathaniel's room.

The smile persisted upon Esmerelle's lips, tight and kissed with hints of the unspoken. "Wonderful thing to have friends, is it not? Helping hands, an ear to listen, these are wonderful things to have at your disposal."

The meaning was clear to Nathaniel. He had played the games enough times to recognize speak within speak. An overly formal bow, double speak upon the tongue that was vague enough to straddle the boundary between compliment and insult, or a simple well-timed 'excuse me', these were just a few of the tools within a noble's arsenal of subtlety. "To friendship then." He raised his glass to the Bann.

"Indeed." An understanding had, Esmerelle's grin broadened conspiratorially. "If you will excuse me, I believe Bann Eddelbrek has monopolized the fair Commander far too long and I am eager to experience her charms and speak to her of Amaranthine. I should thank her for helping us with our rat infestation." Her head dipped in formal bow.

Bending at the waist, Nathaniel bestowed his own gesture of goodbye to the Bann and watched as she moved toward Elizabeth.

Politics and scheming had always been something Nathaniel did not relish partaking in. He had tried to learn from his father to please him, however he found the _dance _unappealing. Observing the play taking place a few yards from him, though, made him wonder if he had not given such amusements their do.

More wine filled his mouth, another sip taken from his cup as he contemplated Elizabeth. Esmerelle and she were speaking, the exchange of words volleying back and forth in a well orchestrated exhibition.

Friendship was a commodity Nathaniel was sorely lacking. Given his family's fall from grace, very few wanted to have anything to do with him, he was sure. Add to that him being a Grey Warden and his prospects dwindled further. He had easily read between the lines of Esmerelle's comments for him. She offered friendship should he wish to accept it. It was an interesting prospect to entertain. The Bann had always been extremely loyal to his father. Would she be the same for him?

He continued to watch the pair interact. The untrained eye might think them friends even. Nathaniel knew better. Back and forth, they traded comments, their faces etched congenial. But it was the little nuances he knew to watch for that betrayed them. Elizabeth's knuckles whitened as she squeezed her metal cup whenever the Bann spoke. Esmerelle's right foot scraped upon the ground whenever Elizabeth spoke. They wore the masks of politesse disguising the simmering hatred beneath.

It gave Nathaniel an idea.

Perhaps it was time that he too got to know the Warden Commander better. In friendship, he could learn her weaknesses. In friendship, he could earn her trust. In friendship, he could break her.

He raised his glass, a ghost of a toast to his thoughts and the plans hatching within.

_To new friends and old, Nathaniel._


	9. The Great Divide

Two days after leaving the Vigil, they found the schism in the ground exactly where Colbert had told Elizabeth it would be. Crumbled earth, a giant pit of stone, dirt and decay bored deep into the soil. Makeshift walkways of splintered wood and knotty boards made the descent easier than using rope alone, but not by much. Each step filled with caution; the shoddy craftwork of the hastily constructed paths hinting at possible disaster as they descended.

Miraculously, they made it to a vast hallway of stone.

_An entrance to the Deep Roads…_

Elizabeth's information had been correct. There was little time for celebration or even contemplation. She knew before she saw them – darkspawn. Immediately, they were thrust into battle at the sight of a female dwarf being tugged toward a hole in the ground by a small group of the monsters. There was little doubt what her fate would have been had Elizabeth and the other Wardens not intervened.

The pack was easy enough to kill and Elizabeth soon had another straggler added to their party. The dwarf's name was Sigrun. She had been a member of the Legion of the Dead until she left her comrades swarmed by darkspawn. It was inconvenient to bring another along, but Elizabeth was not about to leave this woman at the mercy of the darkspawn. Having seen what happened to women in the hands of those monsters… No, Sigrun would come along with them and, Elizabeth hoped, be of use.

The hole to a lower level of the Roads appeared as if it had been punched through the earth, a jagged tear within the stone and dirt. Elizabeth was the first to drop down with the aid of the rope they had brought along. Everywhere around her, she saw the signs of a darkspawn infestation. Spike-covered and primitive-looking barriers topped with horns littered the chamber. Just ahead a huge opening was visible, where the wall had literally been shorn away. It was an underground cavern.

After everyone had climbed down into the hallway, they pushed on, killing group after group of darkspawn along their path. Shrieks, Emissaries, Alphas; there was no end in sight to the supply of monsters needing to be dispatched. Each corner they turned, more creatures awaited them. The fighting was relentless, battle fatigue only kept at bay by a steady flow of adrenaline.

She knew if they stopped, if they took one moment to breathe, they would quickly find themselves at a disadvantage. So, she pushed them on, only pausing long enough for Anders to heal what wounds he could and recover whatever power possible in brief respites.

As they moved into a massive courtyard, an entrance to another portion of the Deep Roads lay ahead, Elizabeth got her first view of the Children. Larval monsters the size of a dog tunneled through the ground at their feet, appearing quickly, surrounding them. The creatures attacked with spiked teeth and pincers, overwhelming their opponents with their vicious bite. The sickening sound caused Elizabeth's stomach to lurch at the bone-crunching echo of their chewing.

If these were a new kind of darkspawn, a type she had not seen during the Blight, what else might be lurking within the halls ahead? She did not allow herself time to contemplate the possible horrors awaiting them.

Through golems, traps and more darkspawn she continued to press on. Only when they came to an abandoned thaig and the ghosts inhabiting the dwarven ruins, did she allow the troops a rest. Anders looked at the point of total exhaustion. Nathaniel, though she was sure he would never admit it, also looked weary. Both the circles beneath his eyes darker and the frown upon his lips deeper than usual. Only Oghren and Sigrun seemed to ready to continue on a fact easily attributed to drunkenness for one or a need for redemption for the other.

Etchings on the wall revealed their location – the Fortress of Kal'Hirol, a lost thaig.

She gave them half an hour before she ordered a continuation. Further and further through the maze of corridors twisting through the main hall of Kal'Hirol they went. Just when she thought there was no end to the buildings, they came upon heavy doors leading to another area of the thaig. What awaited them beyond the doors was something she had never seen before. Darkspawn fought darkspawn. It would make their jobs easier; but still, she could not help but wonder, why did they fight each other?

The group had been fighting for hours almost non-stop by the time they came across a giant forge. The area about the forge appeared a good enough place to camp for an evening. There was the golem nearby and a fount of lyrium to refill their supplies, much to Anders' elation. The ceilings were vaulted enough as to allow a fire to compliment the warmth coming from the lava lit forge itself. Defensible, practical and about as good as they would get deep within the belly of the ground.

Camp was set up quietly; the horror of the day's fighting hanging heavy upon the newest Wardens. Elizabeth easily recognized the look upon their faces. Oghren was old hat at such things, and two skins into the ale he had brought along for the journey. But Anders' normally jovial nature seemed a bit more subdued, a little light having left his eyes, replaced with the dull luster of fear and uncertainty.

Elizabeth knew she should have offered him some words of comfort. It was the commanderly thing to do, but she found herself too tired and exhausted from the day to put forth the effort. And she did not want to make friends. No. A kindness displayed might have been taken an as open invitation to something more familiar. Better to leave him alone and work these issues out on his own.

Sigrun was given first watch of the evening with Elizabeth to follow. Sleep, however, was not going to happen for her. Screams not her own roused her from her slumber. Twisting, turning, a rumbled mass of tension beneath the threadbare covering of a blanket, Nathaniel slept restlessly near the fire.

_Nightmares…_

She recollected what it felt like to have those dreams, those first looks into the chaotic swirl of madness surrounding the darkspawn. Everything felt so vivid, even more so than a trip into the fade. The tastes, the smells, they rolled against the tongue filling one with an unendurable sickness.

She had pretended they did not bother her. Puffed up armor and a façade of bravery were worn; quite the show she had put on for Alistair. But he saw through her bad acting with a smile and a supportive shoulder. It had helped, knowing someone else had gone through what she was. It had helped having someone to say they understood.

Elizabeth sat, watching him ride the wave the dream until it crested and crashed in unsteady alertness. His eyes opened, breathing heavy and labored. Through the flickers of flame of the fire between them, he stared at her, a moment taken to compose himself before lips turned downward, unpleased.

"Is there a reason you are watching me sleep," he asked, irritated.

Shifting atop her bedroll, Elizabeth bent her leg and propped an elbow against her knee. "You were having a nightmare," she said flatly.

His brows rose, "And you decided to leave me alone and let me enjoy it?"

What other response could she give? She could explain to him that she felt sorry for him. She could explain to him that she understood. Words echoed in her head, spoken to her so long ago by the light of a fire much similar to the one in front of her at present.

_You see, part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That's what your dream was. Hearing them._

It was her turn to teach. If she did not, who would? "No. The dreams…they are an unfortunate side effect of becoming a Grey Warden," she began. "To defeat the monster, we become part of it. We can sense them and they us. And that means they speak to us in our dreams."

His blanket set aside, Nathaniel pushed himself up to sit. "So I am beginning to understand." Long hair had been undone before he went to sleep, his fingers raking frustrated through unbraided locks. "So I am to expect this every time I try to sleep?" She shook her head. "They are different for everyone. I do not have night…" Words were cut off. It would have been a lie to say she did not have nightmares. Hers were just different. "I do not dream of darkspawn as much, now that the archdemon is dead. I've learned to control those dreams as you will over time."

A sarcastic bite edged a brusque laugh, "Lucky you. And just how many more of these _side effects_ can I expect? I assume there are others."

She nodded and one of the topics she had been avoiding needed to be discussed. He deserved to know. Anders, Oghren, they all did. "The very thing that allows us to sense the darkspawn, to fight them and be immune to their taint, it is slowly killing us. Should you not die sooner in battle, you will have 30 years before the Calling where you will feel the urge to travel to somewhere in the Deep Roads, much like here, and find your death." There was a pause, more to tell, but she wished to let him absorb her last statement first.

Nathaniel turned his gaze, focusing upon the taint scarred walls of the forge. She gave him a moment, letting the news of his finite lifespan soak in before continuing, "And, it will make it almost impossible for you to have children."

The news of his death brought no response, however, the talk of children brought his gaze back to her immediately. A sneer upon his lips, he said, "So conscripting me was your way of ensuring the Howe family line came to an end after all." It was not a question so much as a declaration dipped in disdain. She should have expected as much. In making him a Warden, she had, in a roundabout way, sentenced him to death much the same way as she had been upon the murder of her own family.

She sighed, "That is not why I conscripted you." A part of her had wanted him dead. Killing his father brought her no relief. It did not bring her family back. It did not make her feel as if everything had been resolved. Killing Nathaniel that day in the Keep dungeons would have not made her feel less empty. The hollow wounds of her grief would not fade with the aid of a hangman's noose and the bruises of his own mourning would not heal upon her death. So she took the other option that made sense for them both, conscription.

"It may not have been the reason…" He appeared done talking and slid back down upon the ground. A final comment made before he turned on his side, signaling the end of their conversation, "…but it certainly is a nice _side effect_ for you, isn't it?"

There was no winning with Nathaniel. Damned if she did and damned if she did not. She had tried to be nice, tried to bring comfort in the way Alistair had, but failed miserably, only causing the divide widen further. She sank into her bedroll, head rolling back against her small pillow. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Why did Nathaniel have to be so difficult? If Alistair had been here… But she stopped those thoughts. Thinking of that particular what-if only brought sadness and frustration. Her turn for watch would be coming soon and she needed rest. Alistair, Nathaniel, the darkspawn and their strange behavior, all were cast aside, pushed away into a little closet of forgetfulness as she let sleep overtake her once again.

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The last watch fell upon Nathaniel. The wooden end of Anders' staff poked at his side, nudging him awake; or at least it would have if Nathaniel had actually been asleep. He drifted in and out of an aware sleep after his latest nightmare. The conversation with Elizabeth and all its revelations had soured his stomach making it impossible for him to get any type of restful sleep.

His mind obsessed over what he learned. A shortened lifespan, darkspawn not only in his blood but in his head and he would never be able to father a child, it was a lot to swallow down in one sitting. A shortened life expectancy did not bother him as much as he thought it might. His possible sterility, though… He had never thought of himself as the type to have children, as a father. But knowing that it would be denied him, knowing that he might be the last of the Howe's alive and the line would end with him, the knowledge left him feeling sick.

Elizabeth was at fault for it all.

He had a chance to take steps toward friendship with her. She had given him the opening with her false kindness and fake caring about his dreams. The nightmare had left him raw and irritated. He reacted before he thought and snapped at her. An opportunity squandered. He would need to find another way to ferret her friendship, to weaken the barrier she had erected about herself to keep others out.

A quick breakfast (what little people felt able to eat) was consumed and Elizabeth had the group advancing further into the fortress. Nathaniel was eager to be rid of the place. An uncomfortable feeling had settled into his bones the moment they set foot in the place. The hairs on his neck stood on end, his body ached from constant battle and a crawling feeling constantly tingled across his skin, an itch he could not scratch no matter how hard he tried. There was a darkness like none other he had witnessed permeating throughout the halls of the Fortress.

The very air of the place felt oppressive. Unforgiving stone lined the hallways, slick with viscous fluid that veined along the porous surface. A cloying smell putrefied the air, assaulting the nostrils with the smell of decomposition, dust and iron. Metal and flesh, stone and dirt, earthy scents mired in the stench of decay were everywhere. Shallow breathing did not save him, still the smells seeped through, sending his stomach into a tailspin periodically.

Ceilings both vaulted and low made him feel too enclosed, too trapped. He could not shake the suspicion at any moment all would cave in a on them from the weight of the earth above. He was falling and did not know how to stand up.

Further and further they descended, a never ending maze of desiccated buildings and hallways twisting before them. And everything prickled. His skin felt abuzz with warning. Darkspawn. So many, he could sense them milling behind walls, creeping on lower floors. Everywhere they were about, drowning him the knowledge of their presence.

It was almost a relief whenever they came upon packs of the monsters. In battle he found a respite from the crawling feeling dug deep into his skin. He could concentrate on his aim, on the quick fire of his bow, on killing. In those moments, he forgot everything and lived only for the next second, the next minute. His life or theirs. Their destruction or his own.

Level after level they continued their downward path. More larval creatures blocked their way, boring up from the ground and bent on ceasing their advance. Around one bend, he became overwhelmed. The creatures pushed him down to the ground and filled his ears with their bone crunching sounds. Sharpened pincers pierced through the leather armor covering his shoulders, sinking into flesh and eliciting a cry of pain. Would this be his final end? A death under the grasp of a monster created out of the worst of nightmares?

No.

The grub's screams mixed with his own as Elizabeth ran a sword through its carapace. A fury filled expression touched her features, eyes glazed over with a faraway look. There but not there. Only when Nathaniel nudged the corpse off him did awareness spark within Elizabeth. A shake of the head and she looked down to Nathaniel and offered a hand to him presumably to help him off the ground.

Begrudgingly, he accepted the offer and stood. His shoulder felt on fire, each movement only causing a new bout of pain to flare and bring a wince to his lips.

"You'll be fine," she said coolly as soon as Nathaniel's step was steady. "Let's move on."

Her pain for his pain, he would find a way.

They continued on until they came across a talking darkspawn and a golem larger than any Nathaniel had ever seen. Fire and magic spun around the room, attacks thrown chaotic, no one position safe. He darted about the perimeter of the room, taking shots where he could and barely managing to avoid waves of flame shot in his direction. He had never been so thankful to be fast.

And then it was done. Oghren stood over the golem and Elizabeth kneeled next to the darkspawn. Her chest heaved in heavy breath. She was spent and appeared even injured, one shoulder sinking lower than the other. Nathaniel walked over toward her, his expression glacial. Offering a hand to help her stand, he said, "You'll be fine. We should move on."

They did.

Tension ripped in the air coupling with the stress of uncertainty. Tentacles sprouted from the ground, hungrily seeking target with the lick of sharp tendrils. Elizabeth and Oghren looked to each other, sharing a glance of recognition and understanding. "Broodmother," Elizabeth murmured, nodding to the drunken dwarf.

The word had no meaning to Nathaniel. Soon, however, he grew to learn its significance. Deep within a pit, hundreds of feet below sat three creatures seemingly female – bloated, turgid, marred with the taint. Rolls of fat and putrescence covered the monsters. Their faces etched in a permanent scowl of pain, each moan and cry from their mouths echoing in haunt across the walls of the vast chamber. He was frozen.

Behind him, close enough to feel her breath upon his neck, Elizabeth spoke. "It is what happens to women they take. Broodmothers birth the darkspawn."

_Delilah, please do not let this have been your fate…_

Terror and fear gripped Nathaniel. He had still not heard from his sister. Could the darkspawn have taken her and done… He could only hope not. He did not know how long he stood there in shock, but the sound of metal against metal roused him back to the present. Worries about family, the horror of those creatures below tucked away. Elizabeth and Oghren beat at massive chains, seeking to weaken the links. Up above, high at the apex of the chamber was a stalactite formation of illuminated crystals.

And as the fixture fell, the chains supporting its positioning broken, a new set of screams erupted. A cycle complete, from birth to death, these mothers went.

Nathaniel should have felt victorious. He should have felt happy about what had been accomplished. But instead, as they walked out of the Fortress through a long hallway directing them out of the broodmother chamber, he felt disgusted.

_What has she done to me?_


	10. Water Runs Dry

A long day of walking and Nathaniel was spent, ready to attempt to sleep or at least have a bath. He knew peaceful slumber would not come his way, though. All the same, he could at least put forth the effort in case a brief respite to the nightmares came his way.

He closed the door to his room behind him, ready to be free of _her _and the rest of them. His life as a Warden meant entanglements he would prefer to be without . Every minute in her presence was a reminder of what had been lost. His father. His Arling. His family. And now: his life. He could add it to the growing tally of costs. The clock ticked, each day another scratch upon the calendar of his finite existence. He could thank Elizabeth for that. He could thank her for all his losses.

Crisp and white, a piece of vellum sat atop the bed drawing his attention. A letter? Who would… After walking to the bed, he leaned, stretching forward to pick up the missive. With little hesitation, he split wax from paper, breaking the seal and opened the letter.

_There is a place where the birds meet the hollow. _

_A place where the light meets the dark. A place where x meets t. _

_In this place, put the plans you wish to tell thee._

_E_

Esmerelle. Information she sought from Nathaniel. The cryptic directions in the note designated the spot where he was to leave any information he might have for his new _friend_. He was a Grey Warden. But was he loyal to the order and by proxy Elizabeth Cousland? Or was he loyal to the memory of his father and the honor of his family name? Family before all else his father had taught him.

Carefully he studied the note, trying to discern the location it mentioned. One spot came to mind within the library of the Keep. Behind a sconce decorated with a bird, there was another compartment. His father had showed it to him once.

He would have to go to the spot later, preferably at night when all were asleep and see what might be awaiting him inside the secret hole. But for now, he wanted a bath. Perhaps the heat from the water might help to relax him just enough so that he might sleep. Also, the stench and feel of battle clung to his skin, leaving him uncomfortable and more irritable than usual. He could smell the monsters on him. Everything reeked of taint and dirt and he was not sure if he could ever wash away its stain not matter how hard he scrubbed.

He burned the note in the fireplace before leaving his room and making his way to the bathing chamber. The copper tub he once had in his quarters as a boy was long gone. No privacy was to be had for him. Thankfully, however, no one else was bathing or waiting to make use of the room.

Servants poured hot water into one of the three tubs and left him alone to his cleansing. Armor was cast aside with little care where it landed upon the floor. He would try to clean it later in the evening, but he knew the effort would be futile. No amount of scrubbing would bring the leather back to its previous state just as no amount of soap would truly clean him.

The scalding water felt welcoming as his body sank into the tub. Muscles that had tightened and ached with overuse began to unwind and relax. Tension that rippled along his skin began to ebb, only the warmth of the water mattering. For a moment, he could pretend that something as simple as a bath might cleanse him of his sins, rid him of the taint covering his skin and filling his veins. Beneath the water he dunked, letting the heat completely envelop him. Eyes closed, breath held in, he floated in the ether of the escapism. Beneath the water, there were no troubles. Beneath the water, everything was clean and pure and untainted. Beneath the water, life was much simpler.

But beneath the water was an illusion, fleeting and unsustainable. Harsh realities crashed in, the cool air of the room collided with the slick warmth of his skin as he lifted his head from its submersion.

He pressed his neck against the side of the tub, letting it rest lightly against the copper edging. He could play pretend and he could wish. But it would change nothing. He was a Grey Warden. Fighting his fate would not change that fact. In the pursuit of revenge he found a calling, a duty unwanted. But he would try to embrace it, for what it was worth. The monsters' call sang within his blood, beckoning him to fight, to destroy them.

It was them or it was him. There was no choice.

He would simply deal with Elizabeth in the course of this duty. Opportunities would continue to present, he would have but to take advantage of one. A mistimed shot of his bow, an important and vital piece of information shared with Esmerelle, he would find a way. To be a Grey Warden meant to destroy monsters. Elizabeth Cousland was just one more he had to bring ruin upon.

"Oh…I didn't know someone was in here." Elizabeth's voice broke his thoughts. A turn of the head and he discovered her standing within the doorway. Her armor had been removed, a simple linen shirt and pants worn in their stead. Her hair unspun, cascading in wavy tendrils down the line of her chest.

He supposed she was attractive, or at least would be to some men. He was not one to find her such, however. His hand brushed a wet lock of hair from his brow, tucking it behind an ear. Irritation broached his speech, "Yes, well. Obviously it is."

Discomfort washed along Elizabeth's features. It was an awkward situation and she made no effort to disguise her unease. "I'll come back later." A turn of the shoulder and she started to walk away.

Nathaniel had squandered other opportunities with brash speech and angered behavior. And while he was the one nude and in the tub, he could not help but feel as if it garnered him some advantage given how quickly she wished to spirit away. He shook his head, "I wanted to talk to you about being a Grey Warden if you don't mind."

There was a pause, her back to him. Would she or would she not? His gaze lingered upon her, expectant. "What about it," she asked. Her decision made, she turned to face him once again and took two tentative steps into the room.

His arms rose from the waters and rested along the top of the tub in a relaxed manner, "What else should I know?" He had left things purposefully vague, curious what she might say without proper prompting.

Brows rose at the question. "What do you mean?"

Bait was not taken. Specifics were called for. He explained, starting with a topic that niggled at his brain. "The broodmothers… You mentioned it happened to women. What of men?"

Bit by bit, second by second, the discomfiture Elizabeth exhibited upon her initial appearance began to fade away in favor of the controlled. "No. Men are spared. You might simply be eaten or killed." A flash of emotion, animosity. "No need to worry about becoming a breeding machine for those creatures, Nathaniel. That is a fate specifically left to us women."

Fingers tapped along the copper, his head shaking at her ire. He would not meet her anger with his own. Not this time. "I have a right to know these things. There is no reason to be…" _A bitch_, he wanted to say but withheld. "…we are stuck together for now, are we not?"

She nodded simply. "Yes."

The first step taken along the fractured path of fake friendship, "Perhaps we should be more…civil?"

Resistant, failing to nibble eagerly at the tempting offer dangled before her, Elizabeth stated flatly, "If by civil you mean listen to my orders and follow them, then yes, I agree."

A simple response spoken casually and without apparent malice, Nathaniel asked, "Is there an order I have yet to follow?"

Resigned, she let out a small sigh. Despite all his snide commentary and sneering gazes, Nathaniel had done all he had been commanded to do. He knew she could not deny this. "No. Nathaniel perhaps we should continue this at a more appropriate time."

She wished an out. Her mask was sported, but beneath she was obviously still uneasy with him being in the bath. "I think now is more than appropriate. Unless you are…" His brows piqued, "…uncomfortable?" The trap was laid.

"I…no, of course not, if you don't mind me being here, then I am quite alright with it." The prey snared. "But you should know, I'm still learning too. I've been the only Grey Warden in Ferelden besides… I was the only one left after the archdemon."

Her comment brought another question to mind. "Just how did you become a Grey Warden? I cannot imagine your father approving of you volunteering." What Nathaniel could remember of Bryce Cousland implied there was no way that he would let the apple of his eye, his precious daughter, sign up to the life of a soldier.

Arms rose and crossed over her chest. A defensive stance Nathaniel easily recognized. He had hit a sore point. He bit back a smile and watched her intently, as if greatly interested in what she had to say. "I was conscripted," she began. "…by the Warden Commander of Ferelden, Duncan. Over the dying body of my father and my crying mother. He did it to save me and make me leave Highever during the…" She paused, fissures forming in her controlled resolve. A frown burgeoned upon her lips, "…attack."

The attack. Yes, his father's assault upon the traitorous Couslands. But it was curious to hear of her conscription. He had not expected to hear that. Perhaps… No. He stayed the course. He needed to know more about her if he was to break her, to leave her a broken husk. "The King, he was a Grey Warden too, yes? I've heard rumors about this death, but I'm curious, just how did he die?"

Her feet shuffled against the ground, leather scraping against stone. Cheeks hollowed as her jaw clenched. Nathaniel's aim had been true. "He was. I suppose you should know this. A Grey Warden is required to kill the archdemon. When the archdemon dies, its soul seeks out a new target to inhabit. If a Grey Warden strikes the final blow, they absorb the soul of the archdemon and it dies. Otherwise, the soul enters the nearest darkspawn and the archdemon is simply reborn." She spoke in a mechanical and overly formal tone, as if recounting the details from a distance.

The taint, endless fighting with darkspawn, could the archdemon be yet another way in which he might die by virtue of his new title? "And the Grey Warden?"

Her chest rose as a deep breath was drawn inward, "They also die."

The picture began to become clearer. Elizabeth walked away from the rooftop of Fort Drakon. Her lover had not. "This is what happened to Alistair?"

Unrestrained guilt flooded her eyes. Her voice quiet, a whisper of a response, "Yes."

A vulnerable spot exposed and Nathaniel did not hesitate to take his shot. "Why did the King take the final blow? Should it not have fallen to you? A country needs it King. It does not need its Warden Commander. Those are…replaceable."

Surprisingly, the sad found replacement in the bitter. A rueful smile slid across her lips, "I was not given the choice and Alistair always did like doing the stupid thing."

_Stupid indeed…_

But biting comments were restrained and held within. A carefully timed jab dressed in vagueness was one thing. An outright insult, however? He would withhold those for now. "I would imagine he did it so that you could live."

Her gaze found the ground, the topic seemingly difficult for her. "So he said."

Strike within truth, the comment spoken with enough lightness in his tone as to suggest a joking intent, but mild enough as to leave doubt, "Well rest assured, should we come across an archdemon, I will happily let you take the blow should you wish it."

"I'm sure you would."

He had not been blind during his trips to Highever. He had seen the way she looked at him back then and the way she so eagerly tried to get out of the room just moments ago. Power for power. Discomfort for discomfort. How would she react if… He pressed his hands against the side of the tub and rose, letting the water slick down his body in a drip-drop cascade. "I'll just leave now so that you can have the room to yourself." One leg out and then the other, he reached for a piece of cloth to wrap around his waist.

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Elizabeth had been caught off guard finding Nathaniel using the bathing chamber. She had found it even more awkward that he wanted to converse about serious matters while he soaked and lazed about in the warm waters of his bath. But, as he rose from the water with nary a care in the world, she was frozen in place. Black hair slicked along the top of his head, clinging hungrily to the sides of his face and neck. Water beaded across his well muscled chest and thighs. He was not an unattractive man.

She had been exposed to a certain level of casual nudity during her time in the Blight. Zevran and Leliana were not bashful types, both commenting on numerous occasions about the beauty and marvels of a nude body. And while Elizabeth had not been a perfect and prim daughter of a nobleman, she had, at least in the pursuit of the sexual, been chaste and _good _until Alistair. As a result, she had remained rather modest and easily embarrassed often times much to Zevran's amusement.

Heat rose in her cheeks, her disconcertion getting the better of her for a moment. Only a flash of a glance registered before she turned her head to the side, granting him privacy for both propriety and her sake.

She waited on him to cover himself before looking to him again. Clothing was apparently still optional, only a bit of linen wrapped about his waist. But it was enough.

He paused in the doorway, a couple of feet from where she stood. "I'll come back for my armor when you are done." At the waist he bent in bow before starting to walk down the hallway.

Her hand clutched at the doorframe, body leaning into the hallway just enough as to catch sight of him and his exit. "Nathaniel…"

He stopped and turned, brows raised curiously, "Yes?"

"Next time, use the lock on the door." For she was surely going to use it during her bath.

Slowly, his mouth spread into a grin, skirting the edge between neutral and friendly. "Yes Commander."

Nathaniel confused her. She wanted to believe him. Fighting the darkspawn was one thing, to have to fight your own companions… The bickering, the stares, they grated on her more than she would readily admit. She did not want to make friends with these people, but she could deny lines had been cast, hooks dug into her skin and the all too familiar tug of caring starting to form in her belly. She tried so desperately to erect walls and keep others from penetrating the sanctum of her affection. The people she loved and cared for died. Too many deaths, one more would not be tolerated, survived.

On a rocky precipice she balanced, one side tugged toward the comfort and relief that could be found in friendship. She knew a good cry upon a friend's shoulder would do her wonders. To expel all the emotion held within could leave her feeling freed.

The other dangled so close to a fall the likes of which she knew she would not recover from. But to consort with others, to let them in, it might bring temporarily relief and would only be replaced with new grief, new woes, new guilts at their passing. How many would have to die before there were no more shoulders to seek comfort upon?

She'd clung to her remorse and guilt for Alistair. She'd let it overwhelm her, poking, prodding, punching her gut until she could not breathe for the smothering feeling of it. He had died. It was her fault. But Nathaniel had raised a valid point.

_I would imagine he did it so that you could live._

To live, but how and at what cost?

These problems would not be solved in a day and certainly not on _this _day. She let singular tasks guide her rather than think of her mountain of responsibilities or the chaotic mosaic of her emotional state. A bath, that was what she came here for and a bath she would have.

Servants had grown used to the demands for hot water made after the Warden and her crew returned from a day's fighting. She was grateful for their diligence in making sure vats of water were boiled, ready and kept at just the right temperature.

Her bath prepared, she dismissed everyone and locked the door behind them. No one would wander in upon her as she had Nathaniel. He might not have minded, but she would. Only when she was sure of her privacy, did Elizabeth disrobe, leaving her clothing in a neat and folded pile atop a chair.

Her eyes closed and a wistful sigh escaped as she dipped into the water. It was one of the few things she still found pleasure in after everything changed; perhaps because it had always brought her such enjoyment during her time at Highever. Her mother thought it scandalous how wasteful Elizabeth could be, asking for hot water every evening.

_You overwork the servants, Elizabeth. Do not abuse them because of your whims._

But to her, a hot bath and solitude were treats meant to be savored.

When in the bath she could close her eyes and pretend that she was back in Highever, back in her room soaking before she would slip into the comfort of her bed. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost hear Oren's laughter outside her door as he pulled his favorite wooden duck by string. She could almost smell the delicious scent of Nan's special bread that she always baked at night for some reason, rather than the early hours of morning. She could almost hear the echo of her father's footsteps outside her door as he walked to his own chambers.

Almost…

With each bath, these memories became harder and harder to tap into. It became increasingly difficult to cling to her tenuous connection to the past and the happiness it had brought her. And she had been happy, so incredibly so.

Alistair had made her feel that way, as well. The warmth of his gaze and the awkward jokes that fell from lips twisted in a boyish grin never failed to make her smile. Then there was the tingle of his skin against her own, the one night in Redcliffe they shared a bath together. He sat behind her, his arms wrapped about her chest, pulling her tightly against him. Lips caressed her neck, soft, gentle but filled with need, want and love. She had melted within the perfection of the moment. Riordan's words to them were forgotten. Alistair was King and she was his Queen. They had fought against impossible odds for two years. Alistair had whispered into her ear; surely they would find a way to beat these odds as well. But their luck had run out and Alistair was not here. This was not Redcliffe Castle and it certainly was not Highever. Fantasy and the willful plucking of memories would not make it so.

She was surrounded by people: servants, Grey Wardens, some even friends. But she never had she felt so alone.

Suddenly the water felt cold and unsoothing.


	11. Separate Ways

Elizabeth received notice that a path had been cleared to further investigate the Roads beneath the fort. A maze of corridors and rooms spiraled underground. Puzzles, darkspawn, spectral ogres; they fought and dealt with all that came before them. Compared to Kal'Hirol, it seemed like child's play.

They found a huge door at the mouth of a hallway. "We can lock 'em out with that," Oghren had explained. It did not take long for Voldrick to fix the locking mechanism and the hole was sealed with the heavy thud of a closed door.

It felt good to have accomplished something, to have a small win in her column. However, she would not hold any celebrations over something as simple as a locked door. There was rising sense of foreboding, as well, that she could not seem to fight. For every step forward, they seemed to take two back. Everything about these darkspawn was different. They spoke, they used tactics and they were insistent on capturing Grey Wardens and keeping them alive. To what purpose? Had it only been the women taken, she had to admit it almost would have made things easier to understand. However, both women and men had been taken during the initial attack on the Keep. Why? All encounters so far with darkspawn brought only more questions and none of the answers she sought.

There was a time when she might have viewed her cup as half full, but now all she saw was a half empty vessel whose liquid line never seemed to change.

When Elizabeth saw Felsi burst into the main hall, demanding to see Oghren, she knew the waters were leveling once again. For each good, there was always a corresponding bad. Elizabeth had never asked Oghren why he wanted to join the Wardens. She really had not wanted to know. He was her friend. And while part of her dreaded his death, another part wished him terribly to join her forces. A friendly face within the crowd of strangers, enemies, and greedy hands was more than welcome.

But as she listened to Felsi and Oghren talk and learned that he had left his wife and child, a very different picture of things began to form in her mind. She stood quietly next to the dwarf and listened to one excuse after the other drip from ale-drenched lips. She watched as Felsi, the pain and sadness filling her eyes, stormed out of the Keep.

They were not supposed to end this way. They were not supposed to end at all. An ideal had been formed in Elizabeth's head of their pairing. Felsi was Oghren's foil, the check to his mate. He could not let Felsi go, not like that.

"Go after her, Oghren," Elizabeth said, raising a hand to gesture to the door. A simple prod, that was all he needed. Right?

He shook his head and did not budge from his spot. "I'd just end up being hit. She's a tiny thing but packs a surprising wallop, and in this mood she'd go straight for my danglers."

He was just going to let her go? He had a wife. He had a child. Did he not realize what luxuries these were? Some people would never be so lucky in life. Some would never know the pleasure of holding their child in their arms. Some people would never feel the unconditional love reflected within a babe's eyes.

_The smile upon her lips was touched with love and affection. Gentle hands, so knowing and warm, pressed against Elizabeth's shoulders. "Someday you will have a child of your own, Elizabeth. And you will love it as much as I love you."_

To have a child, to have a wife… Elizabeth could not allow Oghren to throw these things aside. "Go after her, Oghren," she pleaded. He had to. If not for him, for…

Ale or sword, one or the other was always within his hands as of late. Another drink, another skin emptied and tossed aside. He shook his head. "Naaaaaah. It's better this way. She was dragging me down."

Her voice raised, anger and disappointment in her tone. "Dragging you down? Don't you think you should have thought about that before you married her and had a child?"

Oghren's shoulders rolled in a shrug. "Hey now. I didn't ask for the kid. That just sort of, ya know, happened. What can I say? Lil' Oghren's a potent fellow with a mind of his own. "

Her entire body tensed. She wanted to hit him, to push him to the door, to make him listen to reason, to do the right thing. "You don't even realize how lucky you are! You had the world handed to you and you… and you..."

_His hands cradled her face, pulling him toward her gently. Smiling lips asked, "Have I told you that I love you? I did? Well it won't kill you to hear it again, will it?"_

"_So, strange story. Tell me if you have heard this one. This fellow gets made King and then gets engaged… All in the same night."_

Her eyes pressed shut. A shaky breath brushed against her lips as fingers rose to steeple and press against the bridge of her nose. The memories of what she had, what she lost, what she wanted and came so close to getting rushed into her mind in a mish-mash of longing and loss. Oghren had all she desired: his partner, a child, a world of happiness and love at his fingertips. And he tossed it away as if it was nothing. In that moment, the man that had been her only remaining friend, her only real connection with the past, became another casualty. Her friend was dead and she did not know the stranger that stood before her.

It was too much. A final straw on her back, bringing the uncertain hold she had upon the dam of her emotions to the shattering point. The pressure had been mounting, a slow and steady pulse of purposeful avoidance.

_I will not cry._

_I will not give in._

Another word, another comment and she would lose it there in front of everyone. She could feel the prickle of eyes upon her. She could feel the breath from agape mouths overheating the back of her neck.

Her stomach tugged and lurched. The taste of bile tickled at her throat.

To lose it there, to let them all see the weakness spidering cracks through the false stone of her façade… No notice given, feet moved quickly and purposefully against the ground. Her hand rose, cupping against her mouth in attempt to stem the flow of sick pushing for release. To let others see her this vulnerable, it would be the end, an unbearable humiliation.

Hallways passed in a blur. She moved by memory, rather than thought. Only when she arrived at her rooms and had the heaviness of the door slammed behind her did her hand move to shirk off her metal glove and allow the contents of her stomach fall to the ground at her feet.

Heaving gasps racked her torso. Her body bent at the waist, hands resting upon her knees. Sweat, vomit, newly flowing tears, all mixed together in a loss of control. Her body slumped against the door, sliding to the floor. Knees brought to chest, forehead pressed against metal, she sobbed. Indelicate sounds too long held in erupted in breathless crying.

She cried for those she had lost.

She cried for all she would never have.

She cried for not having cried before.

Guilt, remorse, envy and wrath fueled her breakdown. In the falsehood of her strength she had dampened the necessity of grieving. There would be time for tears later, she had thought. There would be time for missing him, missing them after her duty had been fulfilled. But there was never time for such things, never time for her to rebuild and come to terms with what had become rather than what should have been. The what-ifs and if-onlys that plagued her mind warred with the harsh realities of her eye's view.

They were all gone. Her parents , her brother's family, and Alistair were all gone. And there was nothing she could do about it. She trudged the roads of denial for so long, to not think, to not feel. Ahead laid acceptance, a tempestuous sea of sadness and remorse before the calm of moving on.

To accept meant a life without Alistair.

Shaky hands pushed against the ground, helping her to stand once again. Tears were brushed away, hands wiping against her cheeks. She took the pitcher of water from the vanity and grabbed some linen cloths.

To accept meant to let go.

She knelt upon the ground and poured water atop the mess she had created. Cloth swiped against the stone, cleaning the floor. She could not have others do this for her. She had to do it herself..

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Another hard day's battle and everyone trudged into the main hall, ready to go their separate ways and rest until duty and orders drew them back to the fight. Nathaniel was exhausted. If he had known as a child what laid beneath his family's home, he was certain he would have had many a restless night's sleep.

Would he ever get used to looking upon those monsters? Would he ever get used to the crawling sensation beneath his skin whenever they were near? He could not imagine that he could. If he had, what type of man would that make him? It was something he did not want to consider, and he pushed the questions to the back of his mind to contemplate on another day.

Elizabeth was about to dismiss everyone for the night, or so Nathaniel had assumed, when a dwarven woman forced her way in and started yelling for the drunk. He was not surprised to discover Oghren had marital issues and abandoned his child. He'd seen what drink could do to a man in the actions of his brother.

What did surprise Nathaniel, however, was Elizabeth's reaction to the exchange between husband and wife. She became incensed and more emotional than he had seen before. Something had triggered a reaction in her strong enough to cause her to walk quickly out of the hall.

His eyes lingered on where she had stood, trying to digest what he had just witnessed. Had the dwarf unintentionally managed what Nathaniel could not and caused Elizabeth to hurt?

His attentions were drawn back to Oghren as he spoke. "Sodding nug-humping idiot. I stepped in it good." A grumble came from the stout drunk, his head shaking, his foot brushing against the ground in frustration.

Anders' hands crossed over his chest, a look of disapproval tossed towards Oghren. "I think that might be putting it mildly, Oghren. You seemed to have bathed in it." A hand rose to waft in front of his face. "Then again, do you bathe at all?"

A meaty finger pointed at Anders, accusatory. Oghren appeared ready to have none of Anders' commentary. "Look sparkle-fingers. No one asked you. Like having a third damn woman in the mix. You going to be getting on those moon cycles with them too? Because if you are, let me know now."

Nathaniel watched the exchange between the two men with an air of neutrality. He let them bicker. They always bickered.

Sigrun interjected, "And you wonder why Branka left you, Oghren."

Branka? That was a name Nathaniel had not heard before. It was hard enough to believe one woman enjoyed the company of Oghren let alone two. He let a small snort of a laugh pass over his lips at the idea.

Unwanted attention turned upon him. Oghren's gaze landed squarely upon Nathaniel. "And what are you laughing at? You got something to add too?"

Bland and all together done with whole thing, he said, "No. I do not." He could care less about the relationship habits of the dwarf. He had other matters on his mind.

No goodbyes were said. These people were not his friends. They fought together out of necessity and nothing more. He had a letter to write to Esmerelle and privacy would be best for such things.

The connections were not hard to make. The subtext shone bright and easy to read in the air. Oghren had what Elizabeth desired and lost. Family, love, freedom and he gave it all away for blood and ale. Flashes of what he had witnessed earlier in the week became more crystalline.

She was still in mourning for Maric's bastard.

Nathaniel had thought when he heard of the engagement that Elizabeth's ambitions had coupled with those of Eamon Guerrin and pushed forth the union. How better to justify a bastard Theirin and Grey Warden on the throne than to marry him to a Cousland?

Nathaniel had been wrong, though. While there may have been underlying motives, there had also been something more at play. Elizabeth loved the King and had watched him die so that she might live. It was almost too sweet a discovery to make. He had found a weak point to exploit, and one Esmerelle might find useful.

His walking brought him to the library. Few spent time in this room. The rebuilding and fortifying of the Keep as well as the endless fighting with darkspawn made it difficult for people to find time for leisure and reading. The sconce was where he remembered it, though time has tarnished some of the metal's gleam.

Fingers traced along the delicate design of a wing stopped at a cleft against the body of the bird. A small button, nearly invisible unless one knew it was there, was pressed down, releasing the internal lock of the secret compartment behind the sconce. Nathaniel pushed it aside and looked inside the hole within the wall. Only a ring sat within the space. A single look upon the ring and he instantly recognized it: signet ring of Teyrn Bryce Cousland.

It was a curious item to find within the library safe. Nathaniel would have expected his father to keep such a trinket on his person or within his rooms. But in the library? It made little sense. Perhaps Esmerelle had left it for him for some reason. There were simply too many questions to contemplate for an already too tired mind.

The dreams had been growing exceeding worse making any type of quality sleep a fleeting possibility. Finding the ring did not help either. It threw him off balance and any plans he had to write a letter were put off. He could do it another time. One more day would not hurt. He resituated the library so that no one might become aware of the secret spot.

While passing Elizabeth's room on the way to his, he paused. The cries coming from beneath the door he too easily recognized. They were the cries of a wife that has lost a husband. They were the cries of a parent that has lost a child. They were the all too unfamiliar cries he heard while traveling through Ferelden after the Blight and civil war. Pain and sorrow flowed within each rasping gasp and choke.

Elizabeth was crying.

His mouth attempted to pull into a smile but faltered. This was what he wanted, was it not? To hear the broken sobs of the woman that destroyed his family, that took all that had been his and claimed it as her own? Something, however, felt entirely too cruel about standing outside her door, relishing in the fractured melody of her tears.

His father would not have hesitated. His father would have been merciless and would have expected Nathaniel to do the same.

_Make her pay for what she has done to our family. Make me proud._

He wanted to so desperately be his father's son, to live up to the memory of the man he idolized. His hand rose to knock upon the door. He could embarrass her by letting her know that he knew, that he heard, that he enjoyed it. She was a proud woman. All the Couslands were proud. For him to see her like this would be a humiliation that would sting and leave her further injured.

But his hand lingered, fingers splayed and pressed against the door. He could not find the strength to form a fist and knock, to disturb the sliver of privacy he knew he should want to infringe upon. Plans had formed in his head. He had so many ideas on how to make her pay, how to get revenge. But when the time came for action, he stood frozen. Why was he so weak?

He heard movement behind the door as the crying became more staggered and quiet. He could not let her find him here, hovering. He had heard her in a moment of weakness but he could not allow her to see his own. His hand withdrawn, he walked quickly down the hallway to his room and shut the door behind him.

His head sunk, chin dipping to his chest. He had disappointed his father before. He had been sent to the Free Marches for such failures.

_I had thought better of you, Nathaniel. Why must you continue to anger me so? I give you everything and you give me nothing._

Words from the past echoed in his ears. The weight of his father's disapproving gaze landed upon his shoulders. Nathaniel was not the man he should have been. He was not the man his father would have wanted him to be. This was how he honored his memory, to show pity for the person that took his father's life? "I'm sorry, father," he mumbled as he slid onto the floor and sat pressed against his door. Knees rose, his forehead dipping to rest against his legs.


	12. Relics From the Past

Nathaniel had not slept well. Between the chaotic choirs of darkspawn singing in his head and the obsessive thoughts of his inability to enact the revenge necessary to honor his father's memory, he had not slept for more than a few minutes at a time.

While dressing, he glanced in the mirror and saw dark circles rimming the bottoms of his eyes, a tell-tale sign of a rough evening.

_Let them say something about it. I dare them._

He was on edge from exhaustion and frustration. To sleep, to rest, even if he had been allowed time for dalliances, he knew slumber would evade him. Maybe the darkspawn would kill him and then he could truly rest. Dark humor bit at his lips, a rueful smile forming within the reflection of the mirror.

They were to head to Amaranthine after everyone gathered. Bann Esmerelle had sent an invitation to Elizabeth wishing to entertain her and some of the wardens at the Bann's estate in the city. Nathaniel was pleased Elizabeth accepted. It would give him an opportunity to speak with the Bann again. Perhaps she might be able to aid him in taking the steps he'd been too hesitant to take on his own.

Nathaniel hated to admit his disappointment at discovering the dwarf was not to accompany them on the trip. Begrudgingly, he was beginning to form a more favorable opinion of the man. While his hygiene and manners left something to be desired, he was a fierce fighter and did seem to have a talent for making the Commander upset. Both these skills were something Nathaniel could respect.

As they grouping started to take their leave of the Keep, a familiar face was found amongst the workers on the Vigil's grounds.

_Samuel?_

The old groundskeeper had lived? Nathaniel called out to him, caring little if he caused a delay in Elizabeth's schedule. If she wished him to go with her to Amaranthine, she could wait. Samuel may have known something about Delilah or Thomas.

And Samuel did.

Nathaniel's sister was alive and in Amaranthine. His brother had died in the war, having sided with their father in the civil conflict. Even in the end, Thomas proved to be the better son. The thought left Nathaniel bitter and angry at himself for his inaction the previous evening. Only the knowledge that his sister was alive helped to temper the sour feeling growing in his gut.

He needed to find Delilah and see her with his own eyes. To hear she was alright was one thing. To see her was all together another. Only then would he truly believe her safe and that he was no longer left alone in the world.

But that meant asking _her _for permission. He put on a smile, a child begging to be let out to play. She would not deny him, would she?

No, she would not. They would search out Delilah after their official business in the city had been concluded.

The entire walk to Amaranthine, he obsessed about the meeting, letting it dominate his thoughts. Relief and anger mixed together in swirls of confusion. Every moment of comfort and anticipation he felt at knowing he would soon see his sister was met with equal moments of anger and contempt at having had to wonder about her fate to begin with.

The woman walking ahead of him on the road, it was all her fault. She killed his father. She brought dishonor to his family causing his sister to leave the safety of the Keep. She brought the weakness out of him with her tears, so easily disarming him.

By the time they reached the Bann's estate and were lead inside, Nathaniel had convinced himself that the previous evening was the result of his exhaustion and nothing more, a momentary slip that would not happen again.

Any additional failings in his resolve disappeared when he was shown to his room prepare for dinner. The suite was decorated in his father's aesthetic. Dark woods and fabrics dominated. Above the hearth, a painted portrait of Rendon Howe was hung.

The man had only smiled on the rarest of occasions. The sitting for this particular picture was apparently not one of those times. A grim expression tugged at the corners of his mouth. Nathaniel's head dipped, turning her gaze away from the portrait. The weight of his father's painted gaze burned filling Nathaniel with a fresh wave of guilt and self-loathing.

A voice gone but still fresh in his mind echoed in memory.

_I am sending you to the Free Marches to harden you up. You do not have the spirit necessary to inherit the arling. You might be older than Thomas, but he is more of a man that you are at present. You disappoint me, Nathaniel._

Nathaniel would prove his father wrong. He had learned during his time away and upon his return to Ferelden. The harsh realities of the world left to him after the civil war and Blight mandated a change. The softness and compassion he exhibited in the past and to Elizabeth were to be forgotten, cast aside in favor of the indomitable manner of Rendon Howe.

His gaze raked upward, taking in the painting. Into his father's eyes he looked, staring at the phantom of the past. Nathaniel's grandfather had been a traitor, aiding the Orlesians. That man deserved his fate. His father had been a hero. He did not deserve his. Lips parted, readying to speak, but pressed closed at a knocking at the door. A moment was taken to compose himself, hiding away any evidence of his internal monologue.

Waiting at the door was Bann Esmerelle. The smile she sported as Nathaniel opened the door was tight but not unpleasant. "I came to see how you liked your room." Her head tilted to the side, a glance searching over Nathaniel's shoulder at the room behind him.

"It is quite nice. Thank you." Manners and desire to speak to the woman brought him to turn to the side and gesture with the sweep of the hand at the room. "Please…"

"If you insist," she said, wasting little time to enter , almost as if she would have done so without an invitation. She noted, "This was the room your father used whenever he visited Amaranthine..." A sideways glance at Nathaniel, her mouth ticked upward into a more profound smile, "…on business."

Nathaniel nodded simply, not all together surprised by her revelation. "Yes, it has the look of his touch about it."

Graceful steps aided Esmerelle's advance toward the hearth. She lingered in front of the fire, eyes trailing along the painting on the wall. "He was a great man, your father. I hope you realize he is missed."

Too few would still have recognized his father's accomplishments. He'd fought for Ferelden against the Orlesians. He was a patriot and hero. And to hear someone speak of him so kindly was appreciated. "That is a comfort to hear."

The hearth abandoned, Esmerelle walked further into the room, stopping at a massive mahogany desk. Fingertips trailed along the top of the furnishing. "I have heard some troubling things as of late. I was hoping that you might help me discover the truth of the matter, Nathaniel."

His brows knitted curious. "Troubling how?"

"Well, you know how servants can gossip. But I had heard the Commander is…" She turned, eyes landing upon Nathaniel once again, "...unstable."

There were many ways to answer Esmerelle's question. There was the truth of what he had witnessed the previous evening. There was the lie he was sure Elizabeth would wish the Bann to hear. The choice was simple and easy. "She fights well enough as one would expect of the _Hero_ of Ferelden. However, what you have heard is true. She mourns Maric's bastard a great deal."

More furniture fell under Esmerelle's roving touch. Her hand dragged along the top of the bed. The upward dip of the chin kept her visual focus upon Nathaniel. "Ah, she mourns not being Queen then?"

He shook his head, "No, I think it is something more than that." Something as simple as ambitions would not have caused the sounds he heard from behind her door.

A minute or two passed before she responded, "Hrm. I see." A look to the door, her shoulders rolled in a shrug, "I should let you get ready for dinner. We will have more time to speak later." She began moving to the door but stopped just shy and turned to find Nathaniel once again. A question formed upon her lips, "I trust you found my gift?"

Her gift? The only thing he had found was… "The ring?"

"Yes. I thought perhaps you might like something of hers. I had tried to get your father's ring, but… " True sadness tainted Esmerelle's expression, genuine. " It was not possible."

He had never been able to discover what happened to his father's body, could only hope he was given a proper funeral ceremony. He nodded to Esmerelle.

Fingers coiled about the doorknob, pushing it open so that she might leave, "I shall see you shortly at dinner."

He made quick work of cleaning himself as best he could before the meal. Armor and weapons were left in his room. More formal attire was required. Commander's orders. She had provided Nathaniel with a set of clothing he was sure had been his father's. Had she known? She probably did not bother to think of it or care.

Others had already arrived into the dining hall by the time Nathaniel made his appearance. Anders stood in a corner chatting amiably with some woman too easily enthralled by his meager charms. Sigrun stood in solitude in a corner. And Elizabeth… He had seen her in men's clothing or armor only. On this evening, she wore a dress even Nathaniel had to admit flattered a figure he had not noticed she possessed before. In another time and another place, their histories not between them, he might have easily seen her as the picture of noble perfection – her mother's daughter.

The idea was cast aside, however. Their situation was what it was. To ignore the facts, to ignore what she had done, he would not do. One could dress up a snake, but it would not change that it was a snake.

Elizabeth sat with Esmerelle near the hearth. They seemed involved in deep conversation as Esmerelle motioned for a servant to step forward. Within the servant's hands was a box. What was she giving her?

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The previous evening had been filled with tears and solitude. Elizabeth's tenuous grip of control had faded, a connection ripped in half. In the privacy of her suite, she emptied herself of all that had been withheld. Memories of the past flooded in, mixing with the acceptance of the future. And while the passing of the evening had been unpleasant, leaving a roughness to her voice, a puffiness to her face, for the first time since Alistair's passing, she felt she could breathe a little easier.

In a way, Oghren had done her a favor by being a complete ass. A dam held back for too long would eventually break under pressure. Better for it to have happened when she could run away to isolation than in the open for all to see.

She missed Alistair terribly and knew that would never change. He had been the stars in the sky and a cool breeze against her skin on a warm day. Her first love, the man she knew she wanted to share her life with. To imagine going on without him was hard to accept.

But he was gone.

He died so that she might live. He made a decision for them both so that she would not have to – an ultimate sacrifice given in a moment of strength and not weakness. To continue floating through each day like a ghost tethered to corporeal would do him dishonor. She could continue to wallow in what could have been or push on to what will be, what could no longer be avoided.

The decision had been an obvious one.

She stood before the mirror above the vanity in the room provided to her by Bann Esmerelle and splashed cool water upon her face in a vain effort to reducing the swelling and redness of her skin. She had hoped the walk to Amaranthine might have returned her complexion to normal, but it had not. Dirt and dust mixed with the red. Hands pressed against her cheeks tracing the lines of her cheekbones as if that might do any good. There would be no disguising she had been crying. Acceptance was one thing, letting others see the evidence of her break was another.

Unfortunately, she could not hide out in the room. She had agreed to have dinner with the Bann and meal time was quickly approaching. Elizabeth did not trust the woman. Growing up, she heard rumors about the Bann and Rendon Howe. Bann Esmerelle was Arl Rendon Howe's most loyal vassal. She would sit adjacent to him at the Landsmeet and state events. Even the eyes of a child could sense a connection between the pair.

However, Esmerelle had never been linked to the attack against the Couslands and she was the most powerful Bann in the arling. To ignore the woman would have been impossible. Esmerelle's money and support would be necessary to fight the darkspawn threat ravaging all of Amaranthine.

Elizabeth begrudgingly accepted the Bann's offer and all but Oghren had come to Amaranthine. The dwarf might have been the catalyst to Elizabeth's break from self-enforced drowning, but that did not mean she was eager to be in his presence just yet nor was she willing to let him near the Bann. A friendship had been damaged by his stupidity. He might have had his reasons for how he acted toward his wife and child, but Elizabeth did not want to hear them. She could not tolerate the excuses, not yet.

At their last meeting, during the fealty ceremony, Esmerelle had forced Elizabeth to remember all her parents had taught her about navigating the torrential waters of politics and social gatherings.

_Politics can be tricky, pup. Remember, a hand extended too eagerly in aid might wish to drag you down rather than raise you up._

She was sure Esmerelle would try to rattle her somehow. She had tried at the fealty ceremony and Elizabeth liked to believe she had not made easy prey. But she recognized the too smug yet very polite smile the Bann wore as she said her goodbyes that evening and it prickled, leaving Elizabeth uncertain as to what she may or may not have done. The woman unnerved her.

And now, she was to share a meal and _enjoy_ the hospitality of her host. She smoothed the fabric of the dress she had brought to wear. How could something soft and lush have felt so restrictive? She had grown used to wearing armor and loose clothing.

Esmerelle was waiting on Elizabeth when she entered the dining hall. Hands extended, the elder woman walked toward Elizabeth. "I am so happy that you accepted my invitation."

The games began. Elizabeth took Esmerelle's hands in her own and leaned forward, a kiss placed upon both of Esmerelle's cheeks. Her smile matched the intensity of the Bann's, polite, wide and hinting at hidden intrigues. "How could I turn down such a generous offer?"

"I am sorry that I could not greet you when you first arrived." Hands released, Esmerelle motioned for Elizabeth to follow her as she walked. "I wanted to settle a matter before we spoke."

_I will not fidget. I will not fidget._

The urge to entangle freed fingers about one another resisted. Elizabeth's brow quirked upward curiously as she followed alongside Esmerelle. "Oh? And that is?"

"It is a shame what happened to your family. If I had known what the Arl had planned, I would have warned your father. He had always been just and kind in dealing with my Bann." Two seats sat before them adjacent to the hearth. Esmerelle lowered herself into one of the seats, the motion effortless and full of well-practiced grace. Her head inclined to gesture to the vacant seat.

"Yes, Father was well loved I have come to learn." But she suspects this is false flattery. Esmerelle could not have loved her father, not if she had been in league with Rendon Howe.

Clapping hands summoned a servant toward the chairs, glasses of wine held upon a tray and offered to Esmerelle and Elizabeth. Esmerelle took a glass as she said, "Yes, he was held in high regard." She pauses, sipping her wine before continuing, "When I heard that you had survived the incident at Highever… Well, I'm quite sure you can imagine the relief I felt."

Elizabeth offered a small smile of thanks to the servant and took a goblet of wine. Esmerelle's words garnered nothing more than a nod. She would not share with this woman her true feelings of her parent's death or her survival. She had no doubt the Bann would find a way to twist that information to her own benefit and use it to make things more difficult than they already were for Elizabeth.

"And to think the mercy you showed Rendon's eldest. I am not sure if I the decision had been mine, I would have done the same."

"He has proven useful." A look about the room showed Nathaniel to not be present as of yet. Her brows crinkled, mind wondering where in the world he could be. It was not that she would be excited to see him so much as she worried what he might be up to off on his own. Trust in battle had slowly developed between the pair, but outside of fighting, she still saw him as his father's son – a Howe. He was not at fault for his father's sins, but he was not completely free of their stain either.

"Oh, I am quite sure of that." The woman would not stop smiling. It was not hard to imagine Esmerelle standing in front of a mirror practicing her facial expressions. "Oh but I have rambled, you asked of my business. " Esmerelle's head shook lightly, "I have procured something and I thought you might like to have it." The glass of wine set aside momentarily, hands moving to clap once again for a servant.

A small elf dressed simply in a uniform, all the servants apparently wearing an outfit of the same design, stepped forward. She handed her the Bann a small, square and red leather covered box. From Esmerelle's hands to Elizazbeth's the box is exchanged.

Elizabeth twists in her seat slightly to set her wine atop a small table before taking the box. Carefully, she opens the small container, curious as to what laid inside.

Her breath caught in her chest, recognition crashing into her eyes as she looked down upon strands of gold flocked with rubies and diamonds. A necklace. It had been her grandmother's before her mother's and it was to have been hers on the day of her wedding. Shaking fingers tentatively touched the bejeweled heirloom as if a single brush off a finger against a gem might make the necklace disappear, proving it to be a figment of her imagination, a ghost of a memory brought to the present to haunt her.

Everything stood still as she felt the coolness of the gems beneath her hand. Real. Not imagined. Not fake. Something she never thought she would see again and given from an unlikely host. Emotions pushed at her throat; a lump developed threatening to drown her in the moment.

_No, not here. Not like this._

It was what Esmerelle wanted, Elizabeth was sure of it. She wished Elizabeth to lose control - to cry, to confide, to make the Bann her friend after such a kind and generous gift. She would not make the mistakes of her father and trust the wrong person because of empty platitudes and gifts.

A polite, if strained smile sprung to duty, Elizabeth's gaze falling upon Esmerelle anew. "I had thought to never see this again. Where did you find it?"

Esmerelle shrugged, everything casual and overly poised."I had heard some expensive items were being pedaled within the city and did some questioning around. When this item was described to me, I remembered you mother having worn it before to after Landsmeet balls. I remember because I admired it at the time and asked her of its origin. A family heirloom, no?"

A hoarseness threatened to encroach upon her voice. Elizabeth took a sip of wine, hoping the liquid would help. "Yes, it was….is." What as she to say? Thank you? Was Esmerelle really telling the truth? It seemed a stretch to believe that Esmerelle came upon the necklace in a moment of altruism. This woman did nothing for others unless she might benefit from it directly. Elizabeth was sure of that fact if nothing else about the Bann.

She would thank the woman, but she would most definitely not trust her. "This is a most generous gift. I thank you, Bann Esmerelle." Cordially, she dipped her head in a nod.

A servant drew Esmerelle's attention with the wave of the hand. "Ah, it would seem dinner is ready." She rose from her chair, a hand sweeping toward the dining table. "Shall we?"

Box in hand, Elizabeth stood. Her head held high, posture straight and giving nothing away of the questions and distrust plaguing her mind, she nodded towards Esmerelle, "Of course."


	13. A Family Affair

Elizabeth and the other Wardens had accepted the Bann's invitation to spend two nights in Amaranthine, for it would have been rude to turn down her hospitality. More than once however, Elizabeth wondered if perhaps it would have been smarter to stay at The Crown and the Lion. Everything about the estate felt off, leaving Elizabeth unnerved and on edge. She found it impossible to relax, feeling as if she constantly had be on her guard lest that woman slink around a corner and lash her with her viper's tongue.

It was a relief when morning came, and they could leave the estate on official Warden business. Elizabeth had errands she wished to run, while also stopping to visit the Chantry in search of odd jobs to help fill the Vigil's gold coffers. Retrofitting and refurbishing the fortress was proving to be prohibitively expensive. If Esmerelle became aware of the money issues the Wardens were having… It was best not to let her learn of such things.

As Elizabeth approached the front door of the chantry, a familiar face from the past greeted her. The last time she had seen Wynne was at Anora's coronation, but the words exchanged between the pair left a bitter taste upon Elizabeth's tongue.

_Better an alive hero than a dead one, Elizabeth._

How a woman who had normally been so thoughtful could have turned so callous… Wynne had spoken the truth, Elizabeth knew that. But it did not help soften the blow of Alistair to have such reminders tossed in her face. She had wanted a shoulder to cry on, someone to to listen to her that she could trust. But that person could not be Wynne then who? The insensitivity of that statement propelled Elizabeth along a path of avoidance. There was no grieving or loss if she tried to ignore it. Wynne tried on other occasions to talk to Elizabeth, but the damage had been done. The small window of time between need and evasion closed leaving Elizabeth straightened, face cast in a neutral expression, she walked toward the woman she once called friend. Wynne smiled and tried to take Elizabeth's hands in her own, but Elizabeth kept her hands firmly at her sides. No such act of open affection would be permitted.

Tension cloaked in a thin sheen of politesse bristled in the air. Their exchange was cordial but not friendly. Neither woman mentioned Alistair. Neither woman asked how the other was doing. When all was said and done, Elizabeth had agreed if she came across Wynne's friend in the Wending Wood, she would deliver a message for her. The exchange was impersonal and professional. As they made their way through the city, Elizabeth noticed around each corner they turned Nathaniel looked expectant. He was looking for his sister, and some part of her hoped they would find her. She remembered too well what it felt like to not know the fate of a sibling and then to suddenly find out they were alive. Excitement and nervousness, all mixed together with impatience. Only when she saw Fergus and felt his arms around her did she experience any sense of relief.

Regardless of his antipathy for her or her ill feelings toward him, she had meant what she said to him during their first trip to Amaranthine. She was sorry that her actions hurt him. If finding his sister might ease a little of his burden, she would help. It did not hurt that a nice side effect of finding Delilah was that Nathaniel would not longer be distracted. Distracted men did not make good fighters and she needed him in top shape for what was to come.

They finally found Delilah standing alongside a stand in the marketplace. She was thinner than Elizabeth remembered. Delilah's face showed that she had aged, the creases at the corner of her eyes profound. There was no mistaking however that they had found Delilah Howe. Time and harsh experience had not removed the look of a Howe from her.

There was something about the Howe children that Elizabeth never could quite put a finger on. They looked every bit the part of nobleman's children: well mannered, finely dressed, and educated. They had all the same advantages in life Fergus and she were lucky enough to have received. But there was something off about the children of Rendon Howe, as if a certain light failed to shine within their eyes. While Elizabeth looked upon things with the wide eyes of innocence and curiosity, the Howes always appeared far too cynical for their ages.

It was not until the moment she saw a certain brilliance dance within Delilah's eyes that she realized what they had been missing. Happiness. In the loss of her parents, she had come to recognize how much she had taken them for granted. Her father indulged her whims. Her mother chastised and tried to form her into a proper young woman. All was done out of love and affection.

Had Rendon Howe ever done anything out of love for his children? It was becoming more and more clear that no, he most likely had not. Her youth had been blissful by comparison. Granted, she had her share of unhappy moments, but in hindsight, they were more often the result of a young girl being dramatic rather than actual hardship. She had to admit how incredibly lucky her life back at Highever had been, and how fortunate she was to have had such caring parents. To have grown up in the Howe Household must have been _different_.

Still, even given his harsh upbringing, Nathaniel clung to the memory of the man he knew as father. To hear Delilah state that Nathaniel had worshiped the man came as no surprise. As Elizabeth had wished to be like and please her father, perhaps Nathaniel had wished to do the same for his. Too wrapped up in her own anguish, she had not thought it possible to feel it for another. It came as a surprise when Elizabeth realized she felt sad for him.

"Go, talk with your sister," she offered, her hand sweeping to motion to the thatch roofed house behind them. "We will go back to the Bann's estate and await your return."

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Nathaniel walked into his sister's home, unsure what to expect. Some might have called it quaint and cozy. He thought it dank, small, and completely beneath her. He bit back his disdain in favor of a more pleased expression, however. To even have a home to disapprove of meant his sister lived and that was joyous news indeed.

"It's a relief seeing you are alright, Delilah. I had…" He looked to Delilah, an apology upon his lips, "…it was impossible to get news in the Free Marches. With Father's death, I thought I was alone."

"Oh Nathaniel. Come. Sit." A simple wooden chair was motioned to before Delilah moved to a small cupboard and pulled a teakettle from it. "Tea?"

Before taking the offered seat, he set his weapons and gear near the door. "Yes. Please." The chair was not comfortable, entirely too hard and slightly unstable beneath his weight. Was this what his sister had been reduced to? A rickety old house filled with worn down furnishings? "How did all this happen?"

"It was a miracle really. Albert used to come to the Keep to sell his wares. Father was off in Denerim." The kettle was hung on a bar over the fire blazing in the hearth. She smiled toward Nathaniel, her expression warm. "I fell in love with Albert's kindness. He is… He was like no man I had known before. So different from Father. When news traveled to the Keep of Father's death and our lands being turned over to the Grey Wardens, I knew that I had to start a new life, a quiet life out of sight and out of mind of those who may resent us simply for who we are. Albert and I were wed not long after and since then, I have counted each day as a blessing. I have never been happier, Nathaniel."

And she did look happy and at peace. He and his siblings had always been a serious lot. Delilah had always been the most austere of the bunch. But now, she appeared relaxed and more at ease than he had ever seen her. She seemed to have found a niche in which she was the perfect fit. Or was he completely wrong? Had she merely settled for what life had thrown at her and resigned herself to accept her new lot in life after their family's fall from grace?

But what of his brother? "And Thomas? I was told he had died."

"He did. He left the Keep on the same day as me, but headed in the direction of Denerim rather than Amaranthine. He intended to join Loghain and fight against those that killed Father. I believe he died before even reaching Denerim, in a tavern brawl defending the honor of our _Father_."

A frown curved Nathaniel's lips. "How can you speak of him that way, Delilah? Father was a great man."

"I could ask you the same, Nathaniel. How could you think him so great? There was much you did not see, much you did not want to see. He was not a kind man. Everyone whose life he touched was miserable. Why do you think Thomas drank? Why did you think I was so sullen all the time?" The kettle began to whistle, the water ready. Concentrating on her work, Delilah said as she lifted the pot from the fire, "And what about you? You were never truly happy either."

He shook his head. No, she had it all wrong. His perceptions were the correct ones, not hers. He had been happy. He was sure of it. His world was shaped on the acknowledgment that Father was always right. "He was strict and demanded excellence. I would hardly call that being unkind, Delilah. He simply wanted what was best for us."

A sadness filled her eyes, lips pressing together softly into a pronounced frown. "No, Nathaniel. He wanted what was best for _him_. We never entered into It." Water was poured into the teakettle, the tea allowed to steep.

"I have a hard time believing that." He did not want to believe it.

"I am sure you do. You always did worship him. It made me so sad to watch you interact with him. The harder you tried, the more cruel he became. Do you know why he sent you to the Free Marches?" She moved to stand at his side, the slope of a hand falling upon his shoulder and squeezing gently.

His head dipped, his response quiet and hoarse. "I disappointed him. I was... too weak."

Delilah swept around Nathaniel, kneeling before him and placing both hands upon his knees. "Oh Nathaniel. No, it was not because you were too weak. It was because you were, you _are_ too strong. You are a good man and nothing Father tried could change that. He saw you as a lost cause, and as you could be of no immediate use to him, he sent you away. He would have done the same to me if he had not seen me as a commodity to trade for profit in some marriage."

"I just can't think of Father as evil. Everything he did, it was just politics."

"He was, Nathaniel. Elizabeth has told you what happened to her family, yes? That was not 'just politics.'"

"I... we have not really discussed it." Even if he did broach the subject, Elizabeth would have lied and he would not have believed her. There was no reason for them to have spoken of it. "Father wrote and told me he had become Teyrn after the Couslands fell from honor. They were Orlesian sympathizers and spies."

There was a level of pleading in her gaze. She desperately wanted Nathaniel understand. "Even Fergus' wife and child? Think Nathaniel. How could they have been in league with the Orlesians? Oren was barely seven."

"I… I don't know, Delilah." The death of a child had not set well with Nathaniel. He had dwelled on this fact in the past, always finding excuses why his father could not be held accountable for such senseless deaths. To see such evil in those that he cared about, in the man he wished to be like, it was not possible. "I assumed their deaths had been a mistake. I wanted to ask Father about it myself, but Elizabeth killed him before anyone could hear his side of the tale. Now we only have hers, and I would not exactly say that she is unbiased."

Delilah's hands rose from his knees, taking a hold of his. "Father had her entire family killed. He would have killed her had she not managed to escape. He was quite angry that she had lived. The things he said, Nathaniel... I cannot repeat them but to say they were horrible." Tears began to well within her eyes. "He had… he did not know I overheard at the time. I should have done something about it, but he had me so scared. After you left, Father began to indulge some of his darker desires. He took pleasure in the unspeakable. He told his men before the attack they might claim any prize found in the Castle. No woman or thing was beyond touch, Nathaniel. The usual rules of warfare and nobility did not apply." Her head lowered, her voice dropping to barely a whisper, "I will always carry with me the guilt of what I allowed to happen. If I had simply written a letter…"

From the grasp of her hands, Nathaniel took his, moving instead to clutch the sides of his sister's face, gently. "It is not your fault, Delilah. It is mine. I should have been here. If I had been a better son, I could have changed things."

Her eyes closed, heading shaking lightly. "You could have changed nothing. Do not put the weight of all that happened on yourself."

It was too much. To hear this from the lips of another would have been a lie. To hear it from the mouth of his sister? Truth, harsh and cruel slapped hot against his skin. "It is a lot to absorb, Delilah. I… It is hard for me to believe still. I have this picture of him in my head and I cannot reconcile it with what you are telling me."

Hands upon his wrists, she tugged them away from her cheeks. "You are my brother and I love you, Nathaniel. But Father truly deserved what happened to him. If Elizabeth Cousland had not killed him, I am sure someone else would have. I might have even done it if I had been given a good opportunity. He was a very evil man that brought great dishonor to our family. We've both been given a second chance to live from outside of his shadow, Nathaniel. I have my Albert and you have the Wardens. We can make our lives what wish and not what he desired. We are no longer pawns. You are your own man. You are a good man. Please do not waste this opportunity. Father is not worth your loyalty for he gave us none of his with his actions." A soft kiss was placed upon his knuckles before she stood and released her hold on his hands.

"Of course." He did not know what to say, or what could be said. Each thought passing through his mind was pressing down, smothering him in confusion. He needed to get away from here, away from his sister, away from Elizabeth, away from it all. He needed to think, and even more so than that, he needed a stiff drink. He put on his best apologetic expression, a smile brushed with regrets. "I… I should get back."

"I am so happy to see you are alive and well, Nathaniel. When you can, please come back. I would like you to meet Albert and our child." A hand traveled to touch her stomach. "He is due in the spring."

The masquerade of falseness continued, a smile forced, "So sure it is a boy?"

Either playing along or clueless as to her brother's acting, she smiled warmly at him, "Albert thinks so."

Into his arms he brought his sister, clutching her tightly in a hug. Whispered words spoken within her ear, he said, "Stay safe, Delilah."

"You too. I have already lost one brother. I will be extremely cross with you if you make me lose a second." She tried to make light of the situation, to have their parting be bittersweet rather than melancholy. Nathaniel appreciated the effort with a smile and wave of the hand before gathering his weaponry and taking his leave of his sister's home.

After closing the door behind him, he leaned against it, the full weight of all he had been told still not registering. He floated in the ether of what he knew before and what he now knew, unsure how to breathe in such oppressive air.

By the Maker, he needed a drink.

The Crown and Lion would have worked, but he did not wish to run into any of his companions. Even though Oghren was not with them, there was no telling what lascivious intrigues the mage might be up to. Instead, he opted for a seedier establishment near Amaranthine's alienage, called The Belching Pig. There was no way Anders, Elizabeth or Sigrun would ever consider coming to such a tavern.

Piss, ale, and the stench of other bodily fluids overpowered the air, assaulting the nostrils with the scent of filth. He felt the turn of unfriendly eyes upon as he entered, but he ignored their stares and walked directly to the bar. Coin was exchanged, a bottle of whiskey procured. He suspected the liquor would burn his stomach, but so long as it got him drunk in the process, he did not care.

Before sitting in a darkened corner, he retrieved a dagger from its sheath and set it atop the divot-covered table. He had learned in his travels this was the easiest and best way to let others know you did not wish to be disturbed.

To feel numb. To feel nothing. Each swallow of whiskey was an attempt to wash away the knowledge of his father's sins. But he knew deep down that no amount of alcohol could make the stain of his father's crimes go away. Torture, murder, rape; all would now be associated with the Howe name. Hero, patriot, goodness, none of that mattered.

_You are a good man._

His sister's words echoed in his ears. She was wrong. He was not a good man. If Delilah had known what Nathaniel wanted to do, what he planned to do to Elizabeth in the name of his father, she would not have called him good. Even knowing all he did, a part of him still wanted to see Elizabeth suffer. His father may have been a bad man, but that did not excuse what she had done. With the jab of her sword, she took from Nathaniel a chance to redeem his family's name. His father had been given no trial, no chance to present his case to the world. There was only condemnation and vigilante justice.

But, if the roles had been reversed, would he have done differently?

He did not want to think these thoughts – not at that moment. Drowning in the warmth of whiskey as it poured down his throat was more appealing. Everything was becoming a blur, the lines between the past and present fading into one another. Happy and sad twisted together, making the line between truth and lies indistinguishable.

In a moment of wry amusement, he allowed a grin. _Perhaps this is why Thomas drank all those years_, he thought.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder and turned in his chair, his hand rising to grasp at the stranger's wrist. When he turned, liquor glazed eyes peering up, he saw a grizzled looking man staring down at him with contempt. Rotted teeth became visible behind the thinning line of lips as the man spit off to the side.

"We don't like your kind in here," the man sneered.

Fingers pinched at her wrist before letting go with exaggerated motion. "Leave me alone." It was a warning. He was in no mood for whatever this man had in mind.

"Like I said, we don't like your kind in here," the man repeated, seemingly intent and not leaving Nathaniel be.

Nathaniel let out a heavy sigh, irritation broaching in his tone and expression. "And just what kind is that?"

He got his answer. "Howes, that's the kind. Bunch of traitorous trash, the lot of you. Best left in the gutters with the shit and piss." The man leaned over the table and spit into Nathaniel's whiskey filled glass.

He sat quietly for a moment, eyes staring at the ruined beverage. Emotion rose in a flash, something explosive within triggered. Rage at the insult, anger at his name being equated with refuse, frustration at what his life meant, all swirled in a single motion. So quick, no time for thought behind the movement, everything let loose in a single stroke, he rose and punched the man square in the nose. He hit him because he could not hit his father. He hit him because he could not hit Elizabeth. He hit him because he could not hit himself. He hit him because he hoped he would hit back.

Moths drawn to a flame, men emerged from different portions of the tavern, all converging on a single point – Nathaniel's table. Two men grabbed at his arms, managing to restrain him. He struggled against their grip, but the liquor weakened him, making any escape impossible.

Slurs were shouted in the air. Each new insult met with a punch. His stomach, his face, his ribs, it mattered little to these men where their fists connected. There was no pattern to the assault and Nathaniel found himself simply unable to care. Each hit upon his body felt deserved. He ceased to fight against them, letting his body grow slack and flow with the motion of each punch.

He had let his father down. He had let himself down. If he had just acted sooner… If he had just come back to Ferelden early...

Their hold upon him released, he fell, a crumbled mass of blood slicked leather, spit covered skin, and regret filled thoughts. The grain of the wood felt tough and scratchy against the burgeoning bruise upon his cheek. There was something poetic about lying there upon the ale soaked floor of a seedy tavern in Amaranthine. A perfect end to an imperfect life. And as he saw the scuffed leather of a boot move almost in slow motion toward his face, the taste of blood clinging to the insides of his mouth, he laughed.

_Just like Thomas… Father would be proud._

Everything faded in an instant, only blackness remained.


	14. Prodigal Son

Elizabeth was nervous. She could not recall the last time she had felt this anxious. Nathaniel had been gone for hours and his absence caused her nerves to be alight with trepidation. It had been the right thing to do, to leave him there with Delilah. When she first reunited with Fergus after all that time, she needed to be in his presence. A blink of the eye and she was afraid all would become a dream and he would be gone. He was all she had left in Thedas, the last connection to a past filled with happier thoughts and another lifetime. Delilah was this for Nathaniel. He needed his time with his sister as she had needed hers with Fergus.

Speaking to his sister could only result in two outcomes: he would find out what his father really was or he would have his beliefs reinforced. Elizabeth hoped, given what Delilah had said before Elizabeth and the others left them, that Delilah could convince Nathaniel of the truth. She was no fool. She had seen the hatred and contempt teeming with the grey of his eyes whenever he looked at her. He might fake a smile, say a few words that were not blatantly insulting. However, she knew he did not like or trust her and that was alright. She wasn't entirely sure she liked or trusted him either. So long as he did what she commanded in the field of battle, they would be ok.

Her anxiousness swelled about a single point, though. Would he continue to follow her in battle? If Delilah could not show Nathaniel the truth, what would stop him from… He had made a promise on his family's honor and she wanted to believe it. No matter their differences, he had always struck her as an honorable man. Even as a teen the undercurrent of it was there. Yet all men had their limits she'd come to learn. Loghain had been an honorable man once before too.

Loud noises in the hallway outside her room caused her pacing to come to an end. She walked to the door and flung it open. Esmerelle's men were dragging an unconscious Nathaniel down the hall. Esmerelle followed closely behind, a sour expression tinting her already uncomplimentary features. At one time, Elizabeth assumed the woman might have been pretty maybe even beautiful. But now, all she saw was a relic of a past unwanted and ugly regime.

"We are taking him to his room," Esmerelle said as they walked past Elizabeth. It stated simply and quite matter of factly. Elizabeth had no say in the matter.

_What in all of Thedas…_

The quick glimpse she caught of Nathaniel was not a good one. He appeared beaten and bloodied, shoulders slumped and feet dragging against the ground as he was pulled along the hallway between the clutch of two men.

Two men trailed behind those holding Nathaniel. Elizabeth speedily walked toward them and held up a hand to the man closest to her. "Go get my mage. His name is Anders. His room is just at the end of the hall." Whatever had happened to Nathaniel, it was apparent he would need healing.

She followed after Esmerelle and her entourage and entered Nathaniel's room. Her brows knitted together as she watched the men heft Nathaniel atop the bed. "What happened to him?"

"He visited a rather questionable establishment near the alienage. He was lucky that my men happened to be in the area. Some unsavory sorts were dragging him toward a ditch and were starting to slice his armor of him I presume to sell."

Lucky? Nathaniel hardly looked lucky. Cuts, bruises, scratches, torn armor, whatever he had been through had not been gentle or kind. "He was mugged?"

Displeasure invaded Esmerelle's expression. She was not at all happy as she said, "No. It appears he took part in a bar brawl."

Elizabeth frowned. "I see." Why would Nathaniel have gotten into a bar fight? His father. Elizabeth let out a sigh.

Esmerelle looked to one of her men near the door, her hands clapped in summons, "I will send for the healer."

Elizabeth raised her hand to stop Esmerelle. "That is not necessary. We have our own." She would not be indebted to this woman if avoidable. She trusted Anders. She did not trust whomever Esmerelle might bring into the room.

As if sensing her thoughts, Anders hurried into the room, his robes in a state of half undress. He had rushed and for that Elizabeth was grateful. Perhaps Esmerelle's men were good for something after all.

Anders' face crinkled in disgust, a hand wafting in front of his nose as he moved toward the bed and looked down at Nathaniel. "What wall did he run into and what was it covered with? He smells as bad as Oghren."

Worry and anger were swallowed down temporarily, a haughty business-like air adopted entirely for the benefit of the Bann. Elizabeth would not have this woman gain insight into anything to do with the Wardens. A master speaking to a servant, she asked of Esmerelle, "I would appreciate it if you would have someone bring us some hot water, soap and some linen."

Clap, clap went those hands once again in summons. "Do as she asked," the Bann ordered a man.

But Esmerelle did not leave and Elizabeth just wanted her gone. The sooner they healed Nathaniel, the sooner he would wake up (she hoped), and they could be free of this place and that woman's probing stare. "Thank you, Bann Esmerelle. That is all."

Esmerelle's brow rose ever so slightly before she bent at the waist and bowed. Overly formal, a touched with thin veneer of venom, Esmerelle said, "Of course, Arlessa Elizabeth."

Only when the door closed behind the Bann and her men, did Elizabeth walk over to the chair on which Nathaniel's weapons were set. The bow was there still appearing to be broken. Perhaps it was a blessing that the bow was enchanted to appear broken to all but a Howe. Both daggers were present as well. His attackers could not have had much time after the assault to strip Nathaniel clean of his belongings.

"Who in the world is that puckered old bastard," Anders asked, hooking a thumb to gesture to a picture of Rendon Howe hanging above the hearth.

Time stood still for a moment as Elizabeth looked up at a face she wished she could forget yet knew she never would. He was a shadow she could not shake. Murderer. Villain. Conspirator. She had many names for that man.

And Esmerelle had given Nathaniel this room. She had to wonder, had Esmerelle's men just happened to be in the area or were they there for other reasons? Even in the midst of the pain over Alistair's death and all her duties as a Grey Warden, Elizabeth was not blind. She had seen the way Esmerelle watched Nathaniel, the way they had spoken at the fealty ceremony. Some hidden agenda lingered in that woman's eyes as she beheld the younger Howe. But what?

"He's Nathaniel's father. The man I killed," Elizabeth said, drawing her gaze away from the painting and toward Anders.

His lips puckered together to shape an 'o', "Oh that's not awkward or anything. "

"We need to get this armor off of him and then I want you to heal him." As an afterthought, she added, "But not completely. He should feel a little of the pain he got himself into." Nathaniel needed to learn there were consequences to his actions.

Together, Anders and Elizabeth began the task of peeling Nathaniel's armor off. Boots, gloves, bits and pieces of shredded chest armor, they removed everything until only a portion along his waist and upper legs remained. An uncomfortable feeling warmed Elizabeth's face. Perhaps she should let Anders handle that particular portion of armor.

As if sensing her rising discomfort, Anders commented, "Maybe you should get the door. I do believe someone is knocking. I'll take care of the rest of this and prepare to heal him…" His mouth quirked in a grin, "…mostly."

She nodded simply and went to the door. Servants had arrived with all she requested earlier. Elizabeth motioned for everything to be set atop the bed adjacent to Nathaniel. Anders had moved quickly, armor having been replaced by a thin bit of sheet over Nathaniel's hips.

He began to heal, cerulean blue waves forming at the tips of his fingers. Wounds began to fade, only the blush of an outline of what had been remained.

Linen scraps were soaked in hot water, a bit of soap scraped along the water-slicked fabric. Caked on blood, mud and other things she did not wish to consider were wiped away. No matter Nathaniel's parentage, he was still a Grey Warden and deserved some bit of respect. She would not have him lie there in filth.

The sins of the father should not lead to punishment for the son. She knew this logically. But as she sat on the edge of the bed, wiping away the blood and dirt from Nathaniel's skin, she wondered, would it be so easy for Nathaniel to wipe away the stain of his father's influence? Would it be easy for her to wipe away the urge to lay blame for Rendon Howe's actions at his son's feet? It was all dependant on the next morning. They would have to speak. They would either move on or… She would cross that bridge when they came to it.

As she looked down upon Nathaniel, peacefully unconscious she could not help but wonder, his father was Rendon Howe, but would he awaken still his son?

She hoped not.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Awareness began to crash back into Nathaniel's mind. Everything hurt. Breathing became erratic and staggered, each inhaled breath sending a spasm of pain along the breadth of his chest. An arm rose to clutch at his forehead, a pounding and throbbing sensation laying assault upon his head. Limbs felt heavy, weighted down in fatigue and injury. The only part that did not hurt was his ears.

"Oh Commander, Ser Grumpy pants is awake." There was only one person that could sound so nasally and moronic at the same time – Anders.

And now his ears hurt, as well.

"How… Where…" Complete sentences evaded him. The fog of unconsciousness faded slowly, leaving him groggy and disconnected. Only the sharp snaps of pain radiating through his body with even the slightest movement resonated clearly.

"Bann Esmerelle's men happened upon you in a tavern, apparently," Elizabeth began, her tone neutral. "You seemed to have excited some of the regulars. They brought you back here."

_So, I am at Esmerelle's once again._

"You were lucky they found you when they did. The patrons of the tavern were just beginning to strip you of anything of worth on your body."

Slowly he opened his eyes. Curtains had been pulled shut, muting the lighting in the room. It was a small favor he was thankful for. Palms pressed into the cushion of the mattress, arms pushing downward to edge himself into a seated position.

Elizabeth stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed over her chest, fingers idly fiddling with the maroon cloth of her linen shirt. Her expression was blank, a canvas that had yet to be marked. He searched for anger, judgment, or disappointment and could not find any such emotion on display.

"What could be saved is over there." Her head tilted to indicate a chair adjacent to a window. His bow, arrow sleeve and daggers were present. His armor, however, was not. As if sensing his observation, Elizabeth added, "You needed new armor. It will be delivered a little later today before we leave. Anders healed you…mostly."

He winced as he shifted atop the mattress, turning his head in very slowly to peer at the all too smug and smiling mage. "Mostly," Nathaniel asked.

A wryness cracked Ander's expression, something dry tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Commander's orders. She didn't want to deprive you of the joy of the morning after." One of Ander's hands rose in an attempt to obscure the movement of his lips from Elizabeth. His tone dropped an octave but not low enough that Elizabeth could not overhear his whispered words, "Remind me never to get her angry."

"If you want to continue not angering me, Anders, I suggest you leave," Elizabeth advised, the slender line of a brow spiked disapprovingly.

Nathaniel's gaze trailed upon Anders as he made his exit. Wryness encroached in his tone as he spoke to Elizabeth, "You'll be happy to know I'm filled with joy."

A blank expression preceded a flatly spoken, "Good." Her arms unfurled from one another, dropping to her sides. Heavily, she sighed and asked, "Do you wish to tell me what happened?"

"No."

"Then let me rephrase the question: tell me what happened."

She was going to press the point with a direct order. _Bitch._ He swung his legs over the side of the bed, suddenly aware of his state of undress. _Who had…_ Anders, he assumed. _Wonderful. _He wanted to stand, to test limbs for just how badly he was still, to gauge just how much she had let Anders not heal him. "I could use some pants."

The seemingly permanent frown upon Elizabeth's lips deepened. She stared at him a moment, something on the verge of being spoken but kept to herself as she turned to move towards the chair Nathaniel's clothes were on. She scooped up his pants and tossed them at him unceremoniously. Cloth slapped lightly, landing on his shoulder. Even that little hint of contact caused another grimace to form.

He began to understand. She was angry. The detachment shown earlier was nothing more than an act. Part of him rejoiced at her anger. He had lived with wanting to inspire emotion in her for so long, he had forgotten how to not want such a thing.

But she was staring at him, green eyes staring with a simmering fury. "Turn around?"

A sarcastic tilt bit at her lips. Dry amusement accompanied by a snort. "No show?"

That evening in the bathing room had been different. He had been in control, the one with the advantage. But now, it felt different. She had the upper hand. "I am not so nearly overcome by your charms today."

She turned, placing her back to Nathaniel. "And here I thought you were immune to them."

He set the pants atop the bed and pressed his feet into the ground. Carefully, he pushed himself up to a shaky stand. Muscles, skin, it all hurt; as if every inch of his body was covered in a bruise that did not wish to heal. He slid on the pants, winces and swallowed down moans punctuating his movement.

Laces remained undone, pants allowed to hang upon his hips as he moved across the room past Elizabeth to the vanity and an awaiting basin and jug of water. He filled the basin and dipped his hands into the tepid water. Head lowered, neck splashed with what water he could muster, he started his explanation, "I was thirsty after talking to Delilah and went for a drink."

"I gathered as much." He looked up, just enough to see Elizabeth in the background watching him. Conflict was written across her features. She had something more to say but did not. He could press the point and dig, but chose silence instead and allowed her to continuing speaking. "What did Delilah tell you?"

His face did not look like he had been punched…much. The remnants of a black eye flecked the skin of his left brow, but nothing else marred his features. Should he have thanked her for the blessing of what healing he did receive? No. He was sure she was enjoying his pain, what remained of it at least. She wanted to teach him a lesson, show him who was the leader and who was not. As her father had done to his, she would do to him. A lord to a vassal. A commander to a soldier. His father may have done horrible things if Nathaniel was to believe the tales, but that did not excuse Elizabeth Cousland's actions in the present.

But she had asked him a question. A glimpse in the mirror showed her waiting expectantly. "She wants me to come back and meet her husband some day. She's pregnant and expecting in the Spring." He pushed away from the basin and turned to face Elizabeth. He needed to see her without the benefit of reflection. "She told me that Father deserved to die."

She stated simply and without hesitation in her voice, "He did."

She did not care. There was no sorrow, regret, or pity in her tone. And yet… "I still don't believe it."

Elizabeth considered Nathaniel a moment, her features sliding neutral. Silence hung in the air for a time before she walked toward a window and swept the curtains aside, letting light penetrate the dimly lit room. Positioning herself between two windows, she leaned against the wall and returned her gaze to Nathaniel. "You don't believe her?"

To believe Delilah meant believing Elizabeth may have been justified in her actions. Believing Elizabeth was justified in her actions meant a great deal of what he thought and had done since arriving in Amaranthine had been unjust and wrong. To believe them both meant the image of his father he kept in his head was flawed, warped by the eyes of someone who wished to see only what he wanted to rather than reality.

He walked toward her as he spoke, "It is a hard thing to think of someone you… To think of someone important to you as evil."

"But it is the truth."

A wryness filled his tone, "Funny thing, the truth."

She did not move as he neared, but he could see the tension rise within her limbs as arms stiffened at her sides and her jaw clenched. "What possible reasons could he have had for the things he did, Nathaniel? Tell me that."

He had said it to Delilah. He would say it to Elizabeth as well, "Politics."

"Politics condones the death of innocents?"

The space between them narrowed. Inch by inch he advanced. A dare in his step, a sneer laced in venom upon his lips, "You tell me. Does it?"

"You are not comparing me to your Father. Are you?"

"No. You are definitely not of the same" A snort of a laugh touched his mouth. Grey eyes stared into green. This woman was no Howe. "…stock. Me, however… Why did you not kill me?"

"I left your life in the hands of the Maker."

She was lying, or at least telling half-truths. He pressed the point. He needed to hear, to know. "Answer the question. You knew there was a chance I might live. Why did you let me live?"

She refused to answer. A defiant gaze cast upward in his direction. "I told you already."

"Do I not remind you of my Father? I am his son, after all. Who's to say that I am not just like him? I could poison you. I could wrap these hands around your throat before you had a chance to react, kill you, and be gone before anyone realized it."

"I am aware."

His arm extended, palm reaching to press against the wall adjacent to Elizabeth's ear. Inches separated them. He had come closer than ever before at being within reach. There had been a time in dreams fueled by rage he wanted to wrap his hands around the slender body of her neck and squeeze. A slow death filled with gasping breaths and clawing fingernails, it was what he thought she deserved. But what of now? He sister had said he was a good man. Would a good man have wanted such things? Would a good man have… "Do you know what my father told his men they could do to you if they found you?"

Her body pressed against the wall as if preparing for what Nathaniel might unleash. The precipice so close yet not quite there. To leap or not. "I can imagine."

So long he wished to please his father, to do whatever the man had bade. Rendon told his own men to do the unspeakable. He would wish his son to do the same. Of that, Nathaniel was sure. Malice kissed his tone, "I am the son of Rendon Howe. What makes you think I won't do those things?"

What had been tight, relaxed. In a single question Elizabeth seemed to change. From anger to nothingness to understanding. "You are not your Father. If you were, I would have killed you by now. That is why I let you live." What tension Elizabeth had lost was claimed by Nathainel. Everything tightened at her words. He was not his father. So many times he had heard that in the past. So many times he had wished it untrue. To want something and suddenly find out that desire was misguided, to want something and finally find out everything that brought you to that point was a lie was overwhelming. A sea of lies and truths bore down upon him, drowning him in confusion and anger. A ripple of frustrated rage quaked within his limbs. So quickly, without thought, he moved from the wall and grabbed the first breakable object within eyesight – a vase. He hurled it toward the portrait of his father, an attempt to expel it all, to be rid of the pain, the embarrassment, and the consternation.

Breathing had grown rapid. A staccato rhythm of holding and exhaling attempted to bring in a calmness, to ebb the tide of _too much_ and _it can't be._ "Before I went to the Free Marches, he was never like that. I wasn't really given a choice to leave, but if I had known…" He looked up at the torn remains of the picture, the vase having done its damage. "I shouldn't have left. I was such a fool."

He had not heard her approach, but he felt the warmth of her hand upon his shoulder, clutching gently with a comforting squeeze. "My father did not know. How could you?"

His eyes pressed shut. _No. _"Don't…" He drew his shoulder forward, shrugging off her gesture. He would not have her pity. He would not have her compassion.

"Don't what?"

"Try to make me feel better."

"Nathaniel." There was something soft in her tone, something undeserved.

Her presence burned. He needed her gone. He needed to be alone. She reminded him what he could have been, what he wanted to become and how wrong it might have been. She reminded him that even in the midst of all he knew, he still wanted to hurt her, to lash out at the only person available that might understand even a sliver of what he was feeling. There was pleading in his voice, "Just go. Let me know when the new armor arrives."

He kept his back to her and waited for the sounds of her departure, waited for the solitude he desired and required.

As he heard the door shut behind her, he looked up the torn remains of his father's picture. His eyes were aflame with hatred, a hatred that had always been there, but stoked by a new flame. "What have you done to us? What have you done to _me_?"

Pictures of a happy childhood and at once images of black and white within his mind became colored. The harshness of shading discolored what had once been so clear. A blur of punishments, disappointed looks and cruelly spoken words overwhelmed in once misunderstood memories. He had thought all of his father's actions were done out of affection, done for his own good. But he came to realize each picture from the past he recollected was tainted with truculence rather than love. He had wanted to please that man so badly, a child constantly seeking what a parent would not provide. The pedestal crumbled beneath the weight of the now recognizable truth.

He was Nathaniel Howe. He might have been born the son of Rendon Howe, but his son he would be no longer.

Or so he hoped.


	15. Casting Judgment

Nathaniel glanced in the mirror, taking in the look of the new armor. He liked his old protection more. This leather felt foreign upon his skin. The quality of construction was quite good, he readily admitted. However, it did not have the give of his old set – the new leathers being entirely too stiff and unforgiving. He could hope that with time the new and strange might become as comfortable as the old.

A wry snort passed through his lips at the thought of new things. New armor. New perspectives. Most might have found hope and promise within the shiny gleam of change. He felt only anger and discomfiture.

A knock at the door drew his attention away from the mirror. Upon opening it, he found Bann Esmerelle. This woman had been his father's closest confidant. She had to have known what the man had become and yet, she shared none of this with Nathaniel. She looked at him with a gaze of concern.

_Fake…_

He was not buying it. She had lied to him by omission, let him believe and act on falsehoods. If it had not been her home, if it would not have caused more trouble than it was worth, he would have slammed the door in her face. He did not want to speak to this woman.

"I thought I would come by and see how you were doing," she said as she started to make her way into the room, not bothering to wait on the invitation Nathaniel would in no way offer.

His tone bland, irritation and ire swallowed down. "I am recovered…mostly."

The woman walked further into the room, nearing the hearth. Her back was to Nathaniel as she paused, gaze cast upward at the ruined painting. Tension filled her posture and Nathaniel could not help but think: good. She had kept the room all this time as some kind of tribute to a man that deserved no such honor. He only wished there were more portraits to destroy so that he could wipe the memory of the man out of his mind and out of the eyes of others.

What had faltered in a flash was recomposed by the time Esmerelle turned to face Nathaniel once again. Her smile was wide, the corners tugged impossibly tight. "You are lucky my men were in the area." She was digging for information. The niceness was a veneer covering the rage inside her. Smiles could not conceal what boiled within the eyes.

His stance widened, arms rising to cross over his chest. "So I've been told."

She dropped her next question casually as if she was asking if he wished sugar with his tea. "I understand you found your sister."

_I do not trust this woman…_

He tried to remain impassive in expression, letting his head dip in a simple nod of assent. "I did."

She glanced again to the torn portrait, letting her gaze linger for a few moments before looking back to Nathaniel. "I assume she told you how your brother died?"

Another nod. _Where is she going with this? She wants to know what I know. _"She did."

Her lips pursed together, disappointment creasing the corners of her eyes. "Then why would you try to tarnish your family honor like your brother?"

He snorted. _And we get to where she is going…_ "You cannot dishonor what does not exist."

"Just what did dear Delilah tell you?" Disgust filled Esmerelle's tone at the mention of his sister. There appeared to be no love for Delilah, a point that Nathaniel found especially interesting. Could this have meant Esmerelle and Delilah had spoken after his father's death?

He gave his answer plainly. It was obvious Esmerelle knew the answer to the question before having asked it, but still, he spoke the truth and told her what he assumed she expected to hear. "That Father was a traitor and deserved to die."

"And you believe her?"

Why would he have not believed his sister? She had nothing to gain from telling such lies. He had come to accept that she spoke the truth and could not longer live in a world shadowed with misconceptions about his father. "Yes, I do."

"And our arrangement?"

Ah yes, their _friendship_ as she had called at the fealty ceremony. He'd been a fool to ever agree to work with this woman, but he had been blinded by his hatred and need for revenge. She had used him and easily taken advantage of his weakness. No more. "Over."

"That is a shame. " Esmerelle frowned deeply and shook her head. Quietly, she began a path to the door to take her leave but stopped just shy of the exit and turned to face Nathaniel once again. "And the Arlessa? What have you told her?"

"Nothing." If Elizabeth knew… He did not like the Commander. He even still hated her in some respects. His father had deserved to die; however he should have stood trial before the Landsmeet for his crimes. She made sure that never happened.

Her face waxed pensive for a moment before she said, "I suggest you keep it that way. It would not end well for either of us."

No, he had no intention of telling Elizabeth. To tell her would be to admit he had characteristics in him like his father. He wanted to forget what he had done, pretend it never happened. He had judged himself harshly enough. He could not bear her judgment as well.

Esmerelle continued her path out of the room and stopped one more time, fingers curling around the frame. She turned slightly, a cool expression worn. "And Nathaniel?"

"Yes?"

"Your father was right about you. You are a terrible disappointment." It was a look from the past he recognized. The disgust, the disapproval, all exhibited the downward turn of lips and the narrowing of eyes. It was the look his father gave him when Nathaniel left Vigil's Keep for the Free Marches. It was the look Esmerelle was giving him at that moment.

All came rushing back in, the bad feelings and self-loathing. So easily, she disarmed him with her words and that simple look. So easily, he had been manipulated. "Considering the source of your statement, I will take that as a compliment."

He had never been so happy to see someone leave. Or at least he thought as much until a new figure appeared in his door immediately after Esmerelle's departure – Anders.

Unlike Esmerelle, however, Anders did not just walk into the room. He lingered in the hallway, as if seeking a proper invitation. "Commander sent me to tell you it's time to go."

A sweep of the hand was offered, gesturing for Anders to enter. Nathaniel moved toward the chair on which his weapons sat. "Good. I am ready to be rid of this place." The sooner they were gone, the better. He wanted to be far away from that woman and the poison of her words. He wanted to be far away from this room and the overwhelming sense of his father that seemed to fill every corner, crevice and wall.

Anders face crunched in a mocking pucker, "What did Bann Lemon face want?"

For once, Nathaniel had to admit, Anders was a touch funny. A smirk creased his lips as he slid his daggers into the sheaths upon his back. "To make sure I had recovered…" He cast a sideways glance to Anders, a sardonic bite to his lips as he added, "…mostly."

Anders let out a little chuckle, shoulders rising and falling in a shrug of innocence. "Oh yeah, about that. Sorry. Commander's orders and all and I wasn't in the mood for a spanking. Though now that I think about it…." A finger rose to touch the contours of his mouth in a thoughtful tap tap. Slowly, mischief kissed his mouth, causing a bad little boy grin to spring to life, "You need any more healing?"

Nathaniel slung his bow into place and shook his head. "No, I will be fine." He wanted to feel those last tendrils of pain lapping at his muscles and scratching across his skin. It reminded him of how close he had come to true tragedy, how close he had come to making mistakes he would never be able to recover from.

Anders gaze shifting, dragging from Nathaniel up to the damaged portrait on the wall. He shivered slightly. "You weren't hugged a lot as a child, were you?"

"No." _It was putting things mildly._ Little doses of Anders were more than enough to leave Nathaniel overly full and bloated. Bigger doses of the overly chatty mage made him want to hit things. They were floating perilously close to a hair too much. "We should not keep the Commander waiting," he offered, pushing past the mage and making his way out of the room.

Anders sped up after Nathaniel, taking a position at his side. "Oh by the way, she likes violets."

Dryly and all together done with their exchange, Nathaniel said as his step increased in speed, "Wonderful. My life is now complete with such knowledge."

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Elizabeth still had many questions for Nathaniel, but she had not wanted to press the point. Not after all he just discovered and had to grow to accept. To have everything you knew in life twisted into something you could not recognize was not an easy thing to acknowledge. She only hoped with time, Nathaniel would come to understand the truth of things.

She allowed him his space on the walk back from Amaranthine, letting him linger in the back of the group. She planned to give him this day to find a way to cope with things and then she would attempt to talk to him again.

She had told him that he was not his father and she did believe that. However, a part of her still questioned if there was not at least a small part of Rendon Howe within his son. Children often lived to repeat the mistakes of their parents even if their intentions were not to do so. We do what we have seen.

Anything she said to him at this particular point would have done little good. They were not friends and while she felt compassionate about his anguish and wished to lessen it slightly, she knew she could not. She was the last person he would find any solace in. She had killed his father. And though the man had deserved his death one hundred times over, Rendon Howe still was Nathaniel's blood. To lose a parent no matter their sins was not an easy thing.

Varel had warned Elizabeth that she would have to engage in a day of court once they arrived back at the Keep. She dreaded casting judgment on her vassals almost as much as the impending talk with Nathaniel. Both were sure to require her to say and do things she never imagined would fall upon her.

What she had not expected, however, was such a large gathering to fill the Great Hall, awaiting her arrival. She moved to the dais and greeted Varel with a simple nod of the head. "Shall we begin?"

Varel began, calling all those gathered to assemble. "All rise. The Warden Commander and liege lord of all Amaranthine enters." His voice lowered, loud enough on for those standing on the dais to hear, "You have arrived just in time. I've held it off as long as I could. Certain matters of court must be decided."

"Let us get on with it then."

And Varel began to present the cases. There was the matter of a sheepherder who stole wheat to feed his family. If he had not stolen from the Crown itself, the matter would not have been nearly as grave. It fell upon Elizabeth to decide if the man should live or die.

To sentence a man to death for wishing to feed his family seemed extreme even if the wheat had belonged to the crown. She had let Nathaniel live for much greater crimes. How fair an Arlessa would she have been if she condemned this man for a lesser offense? No, she would not let this man die and his family starve. She ruled he was to join the armies and make his reparations to the crown in the form of service to his country and the Arling.

A civil matter shortly after. Lady Liza Packton, the sovereign of Teyrn's Down was a wrinkled and unfortunate looking woman who carried herself with all the arrogance of one filled with their own sense of self importance. She would not even let Varel describe the matter of the case, interjecting herself into the dialogue immediately with her explanation of her complaint.

"The old Arl, Rendon Howe, made certain promises to me."

Elizabeth had but to hear Arl Howe's name to know she would rule against this woman. She could hear her father in the back of her mind, chiding her for such a lack of objectivity, but she did not care. However, in the interest of fairness, she listened as the woman tried to make her case.

"Some of these he committed to paper. I was given the right to the incomes of the southern bridge."

She listened as Ser Derren stepped forward and explained his side of things.

"And what part did you take in Howe's conspiracies, eh, Liza? To get such a fruitful prize? I am Ser Derren, and it's my land she seeks. Taken from me because I was one of the few nobles who stood against Teyrn Loghain and the Arl."

There was no way that she would allow someone to prosper from Arl Howe's misdoings during the Blight, not if it was within her power to prevent.

She made her ruling. "Arl Howe was a traitor. His lands became forfeit to the crown for his crimes. Any agreements he may have made in the pursuit of those crimes, therefore, have no legal standing. Derren keeps his holding."

Lady Eliza was less than pleased. "Bann Esmerelle shall hear of this."

Elizabeth had had more than enough of the Bann in Amaranthine. She would not have her thrown in her face at the Keep as well. "Who is the Arlessa here? You may tell the Bann what you like, but I have made my decision. " Dismissively, she turned away from Lady Eliza and looked to Varel. "Next case."

She was informed it was the last case of the evening and it was of a highly sensitive nature. A nobleman, Ser Temmerly the Ox, was accused of murdering a Ser Tamra. As the man was lead forward by the guards, Elizabeth was hit with a wave of recognition. She knew him.

The piggish looking brute had bullied all the children attempting to play in the courtyard during her last trip to the Keep with her parents. Temmerly was larger than all the other children and used his size as means of intimidation.

He had not seemed to change much.

Captain Garavel brought the charges against Ser Temmerly much to the Ox's dismay. The men argued back and forth about the merits of the case. Garavel presented evidence, albeit thin and Ser Temmerly made claims the entire story held no merit simply because he was of noble birth and Captain Garavel was not.

It was within her power to order Temmerly's execution. When Varel confided Temmerly had been a confederate of Rendon Howe, she almost did. But her father's voice echoed in her head once again and this time she listened. There was not enough evidence to merit death. But that did not mean she had to let him go either.

Slowly, she descended the small set of stairs leading up to the dais and started to walk toward the accused. "Ser Temmerly, I too am noble born as I know you are more than aware." He could not deny her right to cast judgment him on. Her blood was that of a Teyrn. His was definitely not.

She continued, pausing to stand in front of Temmerly. "And as to Captain Garavel's word versus your own…" She cast a glance over her shoulder, nodding to the Captain before looking back to Temmerly, "You say I should take your word over his merely because he is, as you say, a common lout? I would much rather take the word of a common lout of noble deeds than a noble born man of loutish deeds."

Her head tilted to the side, considering the man for a moment. No, she knew what she had to do. "But I shall do you a kindness. Captain Garavel, please escort Ser Temmerly to the dungeons. It is indeed quite dangerous at night upon the roads he claimed. I would hate to think of him perishing on the way home. Please provide him with a safe place to stay in the dungeons while we engage in our very long investigation into this matter."

As expected, Temmerly was none too pleased with her decision. "What is the meaning of this? You can't do this!"

"I can and I have," Elizabeth said before turning away from Temmerly. She headed toward the exit leading to the warden's personal quarters. She was done casting judgment and trying to solve other people's problems. Nathaniel. Lady Eliza. Ser Temmerly. Bann Esmerelle. She was done.

She wanted an evening of her own, an evening when she did not have to think of these other people and their woes. She wanted Alistair to be waiting for her in her rooms wearing nothing but a smile and a rose between his teeth. She wanted someone to care what she wanted rather than the other way around.

And as she opened the door to her rooms, she could not help laugh bitterly.

_It is nice to want things, is it not Elizabeth?_


	16. Avoidance

"I once heard that the Blackmarsh was haunted," Nathaniel said idly as the group walked down the small path leading to the outer perimeter of the marsh. The Blackmarsh was full of the stuff of tales told to scare children and make them clutch at their blankets in the middle of the night. Monsters, ghosts, and sundry other evil creatures were said to abound this abandoned bit of Ferelden. Dangers lurked around every corner making the area inhabitable by normal folk.

It had the opposite effect on Nathaniel. The idea of such a place excited him as a child. What little boy did not want to run in for the rescue and combat monsters? His father never encouraged such fantasies and instead admonished Nathaniel for such silly Juvenile delusions.

_Heroes do not exist in reality, Nathaniel. They are mere men and women that had the fortune of being in the right place at the right time. There is nothing heroic in running to your death. Remember that._

His father was wrong.

The air about the marsh felt oppressive, a heavy murk filling the lungs with the scents of overgrown earth and humidity. Gnarled trees flanked the sides of the dirt path as the group moved further into the marsh. Next to one of these trees, Elizabeth stopped, a frown touching her lips.

She reached a gauntleted hand forward, metal scraping against wood as she drew her hand down along the bark. There was no life in these trees, Nathaniel knew. Dead husks, decrepit reminders of what had once been lush plant life, were all that remained.

Since returning from Amaranthine, he had done his best to avoid any conversation with Elizabeth if possible. He did not want to discuss his father with her, with anyone really. He fully realized she would eventually press the point if given the opportunity. He would have done such if roles were reversed. She would need to know where his mind was at with his father, his sister, with her.

So did he.

His thoughts dwelled on the subjects of his father and Elizabeth far more than he would have liked. The smallest thing could trigger a memory or a question in his mind.

Anders sneezed and Nathaniel was struck suddenly by a curious memory. A memory of a time when he was five and he sneezed so hard he hit his head on a table. His father's calming hand was the only one able to stop the tears.

One night at camp the fire hit the line of Elizabeth's cheek just so, the warm glow of firelight against paled skin making her seem almost beautiful. Had she looked so beautiful the moment she killed his father?

It was strange that after all that avoidance, he felt compelled to approach her, to tell her about the place he dreamed of as a child. He coughed, clearing his throat in an attempt to warn her of his presence, "My father used to tell me stories about the Blackmarsh when I was young. He said evil magic killed everyone here. This was before the rebellion – a great mystery at the time."

A single brow rose curiously, "Your father told you stories?"

"This was a long time ago." Nathaniel sighed. "He was a regular father once, you know." The memories were there even if only a flicker of an impression or an inkling of a feeling. Rendon Howe had not been all bad. Nobody ever really was.

Nathaniel continued with his tale, "They never found out what happened here. Once the monsters appeared, the marsh was abandoned. I used to dream of coming to the Blackmarsh and setting things right. The dreams of a child…"

Her gaze drifted off, staring at the decaying foliage and time crackled rock nearby. "If the Veil is thin here, there is no repairing it. But we will see what we find." She turned, her shoulder resting against the tree as she leaned into it.

"True enough. The dreams of a child are often foolish, are they not? The Blackmarsh is dead." He motioned to the decay and quietus about them with a sweep of the hand. "If someone had told me I'd end up here, I would have laughed at them. But times change." Times changed. People changed. He had changed. "When I was in Kirkwall, I thought I would return to take command of my father's garrison. Now here I am, a Grey Warden and fighting both darkspawn and demons. Interesting."

Something stirred within her eyes. Nathaniel could not be sure but thought perhaps it was dry amusement. "_Interesting_ is a succinct way of putting it."

"Anyway, the haunted marsh awaits. Perhaps we should not leave it waiting."

They fought through wolves, darkspawn, the Fade, abominations, a baroness and even a spectral dragon. Everywhere they turned, there were new monsters to battle, new creatures to kill. What Nathaniel had thought once as a little boy was proven false in adulthood. The cleansing of the Blackmarsh did not make him feel like a hero, it did not make him feel like a better man. A dream of his childhood realized, but still, he was left feeling wanting and hollow.

Justice's joining had not helped. Justice with his decaying face and lofty ideals of rectitude, Justice with his constant comments about Nathaniel's wrong doings. But Elizabeth had insisted he would be useful and it was in no way Nathaniel's decision to make, a point she was sure to make for him when he objected.

The trip back to the Vigil was to take two days. Ahead of him lay only more time to dwell on subjects he no longer wished to cloud his mind. The actions of his father, the actions he almost took, the actions of Esmerelle, the actions of Elizabeth, all played back and forth in his head in a mish-mash of what-ifs and justifiable excuses.

He wanted to forgive his father. He would not be the same man his father had become. He was a monster who had done despicable things that left Nathaniel's stomach sour and raw. However, that did not change the very core of his being. He was a Howe. The name meant something at one time. It still meant something to Nathaniel. He wanted to find a reason why the man who told him stories as a child and who for all his faults was Nathaniel's blood would have walked down the same footsteps as his father before him – a traitor's path. Would it be Nathaniel's fate to follow in the same footsteps as his father? He was determined not to repeat that man's mistakes. However, he could not shake the fear that his path was predetermined at birth.

His grandfather was hung for his crimes against Ferelden. His father, he presumed, died by the sword. But he did not know. His father's death haunted the back of his mind, a hollow wound that might never heal.

He needed to know how the man died. To hear of his death was one thing. Nathaniel needed to hear the details of the man's passing. In such revelation, he hoped to find the key to a lock he could not pick. In such revelation, he hoped to find the way to avoid.

As they walked on the road on their way back to the Keep, Nathaniel jogged at a slight jaunt to catch up to Oghren. The dwarf was two sheets in, an improvement from his usual four. Ale supplies had run low due to the length of the trip. A blessing for Nathaniel, though he was sure Oghren did not share those same feelings. "Were you there," he asked the dwarf.

Oghren squinted up at Nathaniel, "Was I there when?"

"I meant to ask, were you there when my father was…killed?" Another word had been on the tip of his tongue, _murdered_. So long that was what Nathaniel believed. Elizabeth had murdered his father in cold blood peppered with ambition. His anger had been the fuel that gave him purpose. But now? He did not know. The kernels of doubt had been planted in his sister's home and through time began to sprout in blossoming weeds of incertitude.

"Uh…" Oghren's hand rose and scratched at the back of his neck. "Don't go digging in the dust for things laid to rest."

"He was my father. He had not always been…" _Bad, _he thought. But was that really the truth? So long he climbed a hill of lies, he found it difficult if not impossible to contemplate his descent. "I just would have liked to know how he died." _If he suffered… Was it merciful… Did she enjoy it?_ So many questions he wished to ask, but withheld instead.

Discomfort drove down Oghren's shoulders, "I'm not the right one to ask."

Nathaniel sighed. He should have known the dwarf would not help him. It had been foolish to ask. "Very well, Oghren. Evade the question."

Exasperated, Nathaniel started to walk away. Oghren's voice from behind drew his attention, causing Nathaniel to turn and look at the advancing man, "Ya know, your father's bedroom at the Arl of Denerim's estate? It was next to the dungeon. Had its own special entrance. Sounds like he liked a little bit of torture before bedtime."

A deep frown invaded Nathaniel's expression. "And you are telling me this because?"

Oghren shrugged, "Everyone has daddy issues. Just trying to help you with yours. Might want to think about that if you go talking to the Commander about certain things."

Oghren was actually lecturing him. The man that abandoned a wife and child to join the Grey Wardens. The man that spent his living a drunken stereotype. The man that never seemed to bathe thought it fell upon him to tell Nathaniel what he could and could not do. He sneered at the dwarf in disbelief. "Yes, and you may want to think about _daddy issues_ before you go lecturing others about them," Nathaniel spat dryly.

He turned his back to Oghren. He had nothing more to say to the man. He had been a fool to try to seek answers from him. No, he would have to seek out Elizabeth if he wished an answer. He could avoid her no longer.

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There never seemed to be a good time to approach Nathaniel and talk. Each time Elizabeth thought she might be able to pull him aside, some distraction would come along and demand her attention. Walls needed fortifying, they needed more ore for armor and there was the ever-present display of extended hands in search of food. The people of the Arling were starving and there was little Elizabeth could do about it.

All those matters seemed far more important than having a conversation with Nathaniel, so she kept putting it off.

_I'll talk to him later this afternoon._

_We'll talk after dinner._

_We'll talk during breakfast._

But a convenient time never did arrive and then it was time to leave on another mission. They needed to venture to the Blackmarsh and see what could be discovered of Kristoff's whereabouts. She had hoped the Orlesian could offer find some answers to the mélange of questions needling her mind. What were the darkspawn up to? Why were they acting so strangely? Why could they talk?

Nothing was ever simple. She found no such answers in the Blackmarsh. Kristoff was dead and his body possessed by a spirit from the Fade. She would have to keep searching.

And as she sat staring at the camp fire, she had to wonder, would she ever find answers? The world was becoming increasingly more difficult for her to make sense of. Things she had thought she knew proved false. Things she never expected to see occurred. Everything had flipped, leaving her unbalanced. She muddled through the thick fog of uncertainty and somehow managed to remain standing, though she was not entirely sure how.

The sound of an approach brought her attention to a log across from her. Nathaniel walked toward her and took a seat on the fallen tree. In his hands hung two limp, dead rabbits. Grey eyes flitted over her before dropping to the captured prey in his grasp. A small knife withdrawn from a sleeve at his side, he began to cut at the fur on the rabbits, preparing to skin them.

She turned away, the sight of such things turning her stomach slightly.

Nathaniel snorted, "Does this offend you?"

It was a weakness of hers, finding the sight of the blood of such innocent creatures unbearable. She knew where the food on the table came from. Death was a necessary component of her nourishment; however, the actual process of preparing such a meal had always been difficult for her to witness. "It's just… No."

Nathaniel's eyes focused on the task at hand as he shook his head, "I would have thought you'd have outgrown that."

He remembered? "Outgrown what?"

"Being squeamish at the sight of an animal being prepared." He had.

_Nathaniel and Fergus had caught a deer. They were so proud of the accomplishment. It was one of the few times when they were together that did not end in a quarrel. She wanted to impress Nathaniel. Little girl dreams. She hovered behind the boys as their daggers dug into the deer's side and began to carefully pull away the hide. Tears watered her eyes, her stomach rose up in protest and everything drew cold and numb in an instant. She ran, hands covering her face. _

"You would think that, wouldn't you? Alistair…." His name felt foreign upon her lips. So long she avoided voicing it out of fear of its reprisal. It did not sting as she had expected. Instead, it felt oddly comforting. "…used to tease me about it. He would tell say to me, 'You've killed men, darkspawn and other monsters, but you can't watch a little bunny get skinned.'" A bittersweet smile creased her lips, "I'm surprised you remembered. It was so long ago. A different time." Those days in Highever were long in the past, phantom memories that appeared more out of storybook tale than the reality of her past.

His eyes found hers, a frown curving against his mouth, "I remember a great deal. But yes, a different time. " Something lingered in his expression, words unspoken, thoughts withheld. He shrugged off the moment with a roll of his shoulders and a downward shift of his gaze to the rabbits.

"You don't have to hunt, you know."

The man snorted a lot, she realized. As if words spoken were laced in some private joke only he was privy to, "I enjoy it and I didn't relish the idea of eating anything prepared by Anders or Oghren."

She could not fault him for that. Oghren and Anders were both horrible cooks. To eat their food was to take one's life into one's own hands. Oghren's stew always tasted more of alcohol than meat. Anders' food was almost always extra crispy on the outside and raw on the inside. "I see. Well, thank you."

A coolness filled his tone, the distance between them yet to be thawed, "No reason to thank me. I'm doing this for myself, not for you." His eyelids closed, pressing down lightly before opening once again. A sigh mixed with his words, "But if you like, you may have some." What had been tense and tight faded into the awkwardness of a foal taking its first steps. Conversation felt wobbly, forced, but tinged with level of warmth that had been absent before.

He left her speechless. The silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. It should not have been this hard to talk to him. He was her subordinate. He was a Grey Warden. For all that transpired between them, she could not fray those last threads. He was Nathaniel: childhood crush of hers, boyhood arch-nemesis of Fergus, son of the man that murdered her family, and man she now needed to speak with.

Small talk nipped at her heels, bidding her to speak. Anything to not drown in the uncomfortable quiet. "So, Delilah is expecting a child? I am happy for her."

The rabbits put aside for a moment. Nathaniel looked toward her. His face contorted somewhere, the lines of his expression smeared in anger and sadness. "Are you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" She was happy for Delilah. Delilah's life could not have been an easy one with such a father. If a child could bring her happiness, Elizabeth was glad for it.

The weight of his stare brought a shiver to her spine. Suddenly, she felt ten again, eagerly looking up at Nathaniel seeking his approval. How had he done that? Flipped things so suddenly with the turn of his eyes, completely disarming her.

He held her gaze for some time, letting the discomfort rise in a slow trickle of a pinch along her skin. She dared not look away. She dared not admit defeat. She was no longer ten and he was no longer sixteen. She needed to gain back control, to shake off the unease he caused her.

"I heard Esmerelle visited you before we left Amaranthine." She would poke at wounds that had not yet healed. Answers about the darkspawn evaded her, but answers about Nathaniel would not. Not if she could help it.

"Anders has a rather large mouth," Nathaniel said dryly, the intensity of his gaze fizzling into a tepid simmer of a stare.

"He does like to speak, yes." A corner of her mouth ticked upward at the comment. It was perhaps the understatement of the year. "I do not trust the woman. She was a close associate of your father's."

Nathaniel's shoulders stiffened at the mention of his father. Tables were turned. Uncertainty drifted from Elizabeth to him. "I am aware of their…" He paused, something rueful biting at his lips, "…relationship."

_He knows… Good._

"I could not help but notice the room she provided for you." Placing Nathaniel in Rendon Howe's old rooms has been uncharacteristically unsubtle for Esmerelle. Or had it? Elizabeth could not shake the feeling some motive infused that woman's every move. She was too calculating to make such novice mistakes.

"What gave it away?" Annoyance filtered his tone. "The large painting of my father, you think?" He snorted. "I do not trust the woman either, Commander. We share no particular love for one another if that is what you wish to ask, with all your prancing about."

"I…" She should have been direct with him and just asked. He was right, she had been dancing about the subject and asking all but what she really wanted to know. Was he working with Esmerelle? Did he know of her plans? Could she trust _him?_ "…you are right. I should have just asked you flat out."

"Yes well… We all have things we should have done and did not, I suppose." His eyes drooped back down to the rabbits and his knife. "Oren and Oriana, do you think they suffered?"

The question was not expected, triggering a small ball of rage deep within her gut. To hear him speak their names, to hear them uttered over the lips of a Howe made Elizabeth angry. He had not killed them. He had not held the knife that slit their throat. He was not the man that left Oriana's body positioned in such a final humiliation. But he was a Howe. His blood was that of the man that caused all those things to transpire. His blood was the same that she spilled in a dungeon in Denerim. His blood was now hers to command. She wanted to call him names and lash out at him.

She did not.

He was not his father. He was honorable and somewhere inside, she knew, he was kind. The pain swallowed down, she answered him. "I do not know. But I imagine yes, they did. You father's men were not the merciful type."

Regret and anguish colored Nathaniel's features. "For what it is worth, I am sorry."

It was an apology she had not known she wanted to hear spoken until it was said. "It wasn't…." _your fault, Nathaniel…_ "…thank you."

A tremble of disquietude invaded his voice, "Did my father…" He did not finish his question, but the implication was there. _Suffer…_

"Not enough." Her answer was automatic and thoughtless. Rendon Howe could never have suffered enough to free her of the pain. He could never have suffered enough for all his crimes. In death, he found a mercy he never deserved.

"I see." Nathaniel's lips pressed together, eyes staring off into the flicker of flame.

She had been cruel with her response. He only wished to know about his father's last moments as any child might wish to Those last moments of her parents' lives were clouded in her mind with the horrors of what might have transpired. The wondering was worse than the knowing.

She was sure her words would bring him no more comfort than if she was to learn about those last few minutes of her parents' life. She had imagined it, of course, Rendon Howe standing over her father's battered corpse and the tear stained face of her mother. The various scenarios played out in her head as she thrust her sword into Rendon Howe's heart.

In each of possibilities that played out in her mind, Rendon's death had been the far more merciful one. There were just some things no matter how painful they might be to know, a person simply had to hear. Those last moments of his father's life was one such bit of knowledge Nathaniel desperately needed to possess. "His death was quick, Nathaniel. His last words to me were, 'I deserved more.' And then he died."

Nathaniel sucked in a deep breath and nodded after Elizabeth finished speaking. "That sounds like him. Filled with arrogance and self-importance even at the end." He stood, both rabbits held by the ears. "I will go do this over there to save you the discomfort." He did not wait for permission.

Elizabeth watched as Nathaniel walked toward the trees and slumped into a seat against one of them. The pain reflected in his gaze was an all too familiar one. The Blight had not only changed her life forever, it also changed his. On different paths they had traveled, fate painting both their futures with a cruel stroke.

The emotions rising inside were not wanted. The feelings gnawing at her skin were not desired. She found herself caring what happened to the man slumped upon the ground. She found herself hating him a little less and herself a little more.


	17. The Tear Garden

Elizabeth heard the whistle of the arrow singing in the air moments before she felt its barbing jab. Shock spread in ruddy waves. They shot her. Her people actually shot her. And in a flash, the pain erupted. Electric jolts of sharp agony raced from her shoulder and to her wrist. A slow trickle of blood began its ooze down dragonbone mail.

How had it come to this?

That morning all had felt good. The talk with Nathaniel the previous evening had been awkward, flecked with moments of anger and sadness. However, she thought they had made progress. He saw what his father had done, what his father had become. She was thankful for that.

But, as they walked into the Vigil and found the courtyard filled with unruly citizens from the Arling, everything changed. A fleeting moment of happiness faded at the sight of the grim expressions sported by Captain Garaval and Seneschal Varel as they waited her anxiously on the stairwell leading into the Keep.

Garavel rushed forward, frantic, "Thank the Maker you arrived! Things are getting out of hand."

Cries echoed all through the courtyard. Peasants and farmers screamed their pleas.

"My son is starving. Open the granaries. Bloody feed your people!"

"We've not enough food."

"Arl Howe never let us starve!"

Had things gotten to such a point? Elizabeth frowned at the comments and turned to look at Varel. "Why have they all gathered?"

Varel said grimly, "Grave times, Commander. The common folk are getting desperate. Maybe you can say a few words. Calm them down. Make them see reason."

A snort escaped Garavel. He did appear to subscribe to Varel's thinking, "Varel, you don't coddle a revolt, you put it down. Just give me the order."

What would her father have done? Give her something to kill. Give her a problem she could solve. But she did not know how to deal with the crowd before her. Speaking to people, convincing them to do as she bade never had been a strong suit of hers. But she had to try. Her throat cleared, she said, "Now more than ever we must stand together…"

But it is too little, too late. The crowd was not convinced by her. They rejected her words as the empty promises spoken from well-fed lips. And then the arrow struck, piercing the plates of her armor and her shoulder. Other followed, a barrage of arrows fanning the sky in a reactive attack, the flight of one causing the trigger of many.

It had come to this because they had given her no choice.

She called for the attack before she had a moment to reconsider her words. There was no thought. There was no pain in her arm. There was only the arc of her swords as they met with flesh. There was only the desperate looks of betrayal splashed upon the death masks of those she killed.

And it was over almost as quickly as it began. Blood and the cries of death replaced the pleas for food. Corpses littered the dirt; the battle over as quickly as it began. These people had been no match for well-armed soldiers and Wardens.

Elizabeth stood in the middle of the courtyard, the bodies of her victims spread about her a chaotic swirl. They had given her no choice, she told herself as she walked amongst the dead. They had revolted. They crossed a line and she had to take action. The evidence jutted out of her shoulder at a grotesque angle, a painful flare of a reminder.

The hardest path in life to take is the merciful one, Pup.

Disgust ate at the pit of her stomach, the noxious acids of regret and anger burning her gut. Her father would have disapproved of her actions. He would have found a different way. She let the attack of hungry and desperate people sway her into a monstrous act.

What had she done?

So many bodies, so many innocent lives cut short senselessly. But it did not matter. She could repeat the reasons and the excuses to herself. She could glance down at her arm and see the shaft of the arrow piercing through the meat of her shoulder. It did not change that she knew what she had done was wrong and barbarous. She had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed no matter how empty the justifications.

She felt hands upon her shoulder, startling her. She turned quickly, ready to lash out, to attack. Swords were held ready. Anders snatched his hand back quickly.

"You really should watch where you point those things. You might poke an eye out. And I am rather attached to mine. One of my best qualities and all."

"You really should be careful who you sneak up upon," she replied bitterly.

"I thought I might look at your shoulder." He did not use the delicate touch as he pressed down upon the small hole created by the arrow in her armor. All turned white as a flare of pain blinded her momentarily.

"I need to get the arrow out and it is going to hurt." There was no colorful phrasing, no trip of the tongue in some kind of sassy commentary. Anders furled his fingers about the shaft of the arrow and tugged.

Elizabeth fell toward the ground, knees collapsing beneath her from the pain. Swords dropped from her hands and she gasped for breath. "You could have given me a little warning," she gritted out between pain-clenched teeth.

Anders peered down at her, hands already spinning blue with healing magics as he placed them upon hurt shoulder. "I suppose all the dead could have said the same thing."

Being healed always felt a little funny. Muscles knitting back together, skin resealing, all had their own level of pain to contend with and left the body sore. "They gave me no choice," she murmured to the mage.

He hmphed and stepped aside, his work complete. Tone dry, Anders said, "I suppose that is why you wear the big fancy armor and I wear these robes." He placed a hand beneath Elizabeth's arm, helping her to stand. "You should be good as new."

The strain of standing brought a grimace to Elizabeth's mouth. "Somehow, I doubt that very much, Anders," she muttered quietly. She would never be good as new. Broken pieces of her had been scattered throughout all of Ferelden. And even if she had found all the fragments of shattered self and attempted to repair the damage done, she knew those pieces would never fit correctly. Events of the last years had changed her forever. There was no returning to the past to reclaim all that had been lost.

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Nathaniel had killed innocents and it was Elizabeth's fault. He had killed men and women, mothers and fathers, all because she ordered it. Rendon Howe would have been proud. It made Nathaniel sick to his stomach. Surely, there could have been a more peaceful solution. She was not persuasive enough. She had not wanted to be persuasive enough. These people were his family's people at one time, the backbone of the Arling. They helped Amaranthine prosper and she had every last one of them be cut down in the courtyard.

He moved quickly, without thinking, heaving bodies atop the soon-to-be-lit pyres. But he could not burn away the memory of the looks upon the faces of his victims. They were farmers, merchants, men and women without armor. His arrows pierced their clothing so easily, shredding fabric and skin with each strike. He saw only red, blood and anger glazing his vision.

No honest person should have had to die like that.

The pity he felt for Elizabeth the prior evening felt foolish, idiotic. He had moved away to finish cleaning his rabbits in a small show of mercy for her. In a moment of weakness, he had revealed compassion. It was glaringly obvious now she did not deserve it. Her beauty was deceptive, a ploy to soften even the most stalwart man. That girl he had known existed no longer. All that remained was the hardened figure of a Grey Warden Commander.

She had tricked him.

Commander or not, he would have words with her. There were things he needed to say, things she needed to hear. He did not care that she was injured. The arrow did not harm her enough that she was unable to slaughter farmers with the swing of her swords.

Anger fueled his path down the hallway leading to her rooms. His hand twisted into a fist and he pounded upon the door. He would not hesitate like before, not this evening.

"Come in," he heard her say and entered. Elizabeth sat in a chair in front of the fire. Legs stretched out before her, posture slumped against the back of the chair in slovenly repose. A tangle of her hair dripped down the line of her back, mats of blood caked the dark tresses. Her linen shirt was spattered with red about her right shoulder , bits of fabric flayed away to expose the gentle and rolling slope of a pale shoulder. She needed a bath, needed to wash away the evidence marring her.

Nathaniel steeled his resolve, arms crossing over his chest. "I would like to speak to you." To yell at you.

Elizabeth sighed. She looked weary and worn. "What is it Nathaniel? I'm tired and…" A hand rose to motion to her state of disrepair, "…and dirty."

He snorted at her seeming callousness. "Is that what we call it now to be covered in the blood of innocents? Dirty?"

Her shoulders sank, her tone bristling with irritation as she pushed up from the chair and stood. "What would you have me say?"

He stated plainly, "The truth…"

"And that is?"

The door was opened. She had asked and he would happily answer. His jaw clenched, words were spoken tightly, repressed rage coating each syllable of each word, "That you killed innocent people. That you are no better than those that you condemn. You were judge, jury and executioner of my father just as you were over those men and women. They were farmers that were hungry and only wished to feed their families and you murdered them."

Her features twisted; a swirl of emotions gliding uncertain, tentative before settling upon resignation, "You are right…"

He was… "What?" He had expected and planned for an argument. He had wanted to raise his voice, to get out all of the anger he had repressed for so long. His father's crimes, her crimes, they were one and the same on this day. He sought release and instead found only shock.

"I am a horrible person. I've done horrible things." Slowly, she walked toward Nathaniel. "Is that what you want to hear?"

It was not what he wanted, it was what he craved. But as she advanced toward and stopped just shy of him, he began to realize it was not at all what he desired. All the hatred he felt, all the enmity he had carried with him since the Free Marches, it was not her fault. His father was to blame. He was to blame. He had laid everything at her feet and… "Commander…"

But he was not allowed to finish his sentence. Elizabeth interrupted, "No, you wanted to talk. So, let's talk. I make decisions and someone dies. I abandoned my parents to their death. It was by my order that Connor Guerrin was slain. I told Alistair not to…" her voice trailed off, eyes grew distant. She cleared her throat and continued, "And he died. What are a few more people added to the pile, Nathaniel? Really? I am Elizabeth Cousland and I murder people."

He had labeled her a murder for so long, to hear her confess it, to hear the label edge across her lips in self-condemnation did not leave him healed or whole. Sadness tugged at his very being, something profoundly tragic about the woman standing before him. The fates had been as cruel in dealing her hand much as they had his.

He found himself unable to yell further.

"Elizabeth…"

Hatred swirled within green eyes locking coolly upon Nathaniel. An accusatory finger jutted toward him, "No, you do get to call me that. You do not get to look at me with those pitiful eyes as if you feel sorry for me." She spun on heel, turning her back to him. Arms moved, ensnaring her chest in hug.

Hesitantly, he took a step toward her. His hand reached out, inches from her, but pulled back. A part of him wished to show compassion, to tell her he was sorry for being an ass, to tell her she had only done what must be done. It was what she needed to hear.

But he could not do it. He was not ready. Not yet.

The knowledge of her various sins blazed before him, unrelenting and unmoving. The gentle touch would not mute the swell. "I should see to the pyres." He would leave her as she left him in Amaranthine, alone to her thoughts, alone to her self-inflicted torments.

Her voice was a barely audible whisper, "Go."

His back to her, the doorway in his sights, Nathaniel starts to take his leave. As he crossed the threshold and stepped foot into the hallway, he heard them – sobs mirroring those he heard so many nights ago outside of these very rooms. It was a heart-wrenching sound peppered with gasps and gulping swallows.

He could not leave her like this, alone in her misery and self-flagellation. He contemplated seeking out Oghren. He had been her friend before Amaranthine. But no, the dwarf would not do. The ale he drank barely acted as sufficient glue to keep him together. All the others did not appear to fit the job, either.

That left him. There was a connection between them he could not deny, forged in the past in happier times and continued in the present, though stained within their families' blood. Brotherhood and history tied them together. He knew her in a way no other in the Keep did. He hated a portion of her still for the pain she inflicted on him, on his family. However, for the first time in quite some time, he felt the tug of that hatred lessen. Reluctantly, he turned from the doorway and walked back to her. As she had done for him a few days prior, he placed his hand upon her shoulder. She turned, tears streaking her face mixing with blood and dirt from travel.

He saw a little girl who was not allowed to play with the boys for they were too big and too rough for someone so tiny and delicate.

He saw a little girl of ten who fell off her horse and desperately tried not to cry but failed.

He saw a woman who had lost everything in the world that mattered to her.

It was awkward, pulling her toward him. Even more awkward was the wrapping of his arms about her as he clutched her tightly. At one time, holding her in his arms was all he thought of. To hold her firmly against him, to watch the light within her eyes slowly fade - the last flickers of a flame before the wick runs bare. He had not imagined it would ever be like this, though. She was stiff at first within Nathaniel's arms, a tension in her body that would not relent. But as he held her in the quiet, the strength of his embrace encircling her, he felt the rigidness of her posture slacken. He felt her lean into him and press her face into his shoulder. He felt her body shake as the sobs returned, a violent quaking of indelicate cries muffled by leather armor.

Was it too much? Was it too little? Should he even have been doing this? It seemed right, the exact opposite of what his father would have done. Rendon Howe would have taken advantage of this moment and broken the girl.

He was not his father.


	18. The Ties that Bind

_Shadows twisted, edges touched with by a miasma of smoke, coiling in the air. Fire. The air filled with the pungent smell of charred death._

_Foul._

_Putrid._

_The staccato beat of metal's collision ripped in the air. Swords, axes, and daggers met in battle. Darkspawn against darkspawn, malformed creatures covered in scabbed skin and exposed bone, beat and stabbed at one another._

_Fevered._

_Angered._

_Shrill, high-pitched laughter pierced the miasma. It came from nowhere but was everywhere, singing a song of amusement that itched at the ears and clawed against the skin. There was a pressing need to make it stop, to drown out the discordant screeching._

_But through the pain, a voice penetrated. A calming tone, a soothing wave of relief washed over burning ears and throbbing wounds._

_"I offer freedom."_

_And then relief._

The cool stone beneath Elizabeth's face ripped through the fog of her dreaming. The blanket of comfort offered in those soft and comforting whispers filling the last moments of her dream faded away in a slow tug of consciousness. Eyelids opened slowly, the world lying on slant – hay, stone, sleeping companions stretched out before her.

The questions rose: Where am I? What happened?

In a slow trickle, the gauzy world turned more concrete. Memories returned.

The night before had been a good one, Elizabeth had to admit. Reconciling with Oghren had lifted a weight off her shoulders that she had carried far too long. To open the door and let another person back into her world felt good and right. Both would always have their scars from the Blight, their injuries very much a part of whom they had become and who they would be in the future. However, where once fog obscured a never-ending road of solitude and regret, glimmers of light began to pierce through, fracturing the gloom.

And though the task ahead was still a heavy one, the darkspawn to contend with, rumors of bandits to investigate, as Elizabeth looked upon the outer border of the Wending Woods, her cup felt half full rather than half empty.

A little part of the woman she thought forever gone had resurfaced.

The group pressed into the woods, battling bandits at first, and soon after darkspawn and corrupt trees. Business as usual, or so it appeared. Then they met her: an elf that reminded Elizabeth more of Morrigan that she wished to readily admit. Perhaps it was the clothing, or the arrogant banter that so easily dripped from the woman's lips.

This woman killed in the name of a lost sister. Killing in the name of family was something Elizabeth well understood. The parallels between the elf and herself were impossible to overlook. She considered for a moment conscripting the woman, pulling her into the service of the Grey Wardens. But in the end, though their similarities were obvious, she could not accept the actions of the elf. It was Elizabeth's sword that sunk into the woman's chest, ending her life.

They continued on, defeating more darkspawn and eventually finding their way to a mine, of sorts. Another talking darkspawn greeted them. Everything became a swirl of confusion – up was down, the world twisting about her until all went black. She knew now as she looked about the cell that confined her and the others, they had walked into a trap.

But why were they here and not dead?

Those last words heard in her dream echoed in her mind: _I offer freedom._

A sense of foreboding developed in the pit of her stomach. Traps inside of traps lied ahead of them, she could sense it. So, when an elf came to the cell door and offered them freedom, Elizabeth was suspicious. The woman appeared a ghoul, not quite a darkspawn but not quite whole either. The taint had left its marks upon the slight woman. Still, their options were few: take the offer or sit in the cage and wait out their fate.

There really was no choice.

They would fight and find their way out of the halls of their confinement or die trying. They pushed through the caverns, picking up gear where they could. Evidence of experiments was discovered, experiments that had vanquished other Grey Wardens. That was why they were allowed to live. They served a purpose, but just what that was, Elizabeth did not know.

Through jagged stone corridors, they weaved their path. Along the way to their escape, they found specters, reflections of themselves in soulless recreation, sporting their armor and weapons. Each was torn down, left in dust, rubble and mercy.

And just when it seemed there was no end in sight, they came across him again – the voice in Elizabeth's dream, the creature that had trapped them initially. He stood upon a balcony flanked by a woman that brought back images of Hespith in Elizabeth's mind.

Velvet promises whispered comforting into sleeping ears were deceptive and wrought upon a crooked path. He could offer freedom, but at what cost?

"Never trust a damn darkspawn that can talk. Sodding hell, just never trust a damn darkspawn," Oghren uttered to Elizabeth. She simply nodded to the dwarf and the battle was on. In the end, two drakes lay dead, and their foe and his ghoulish companion disappeared behind the collapsed stone walls.

They found little resistance from the remaining darkspawn as they made their way out of the maze of tunnels and rooms and back outside. The patina of dusk had just begun to color the sky. How long had they been down below? There was to be time for such thoughts later. Elizabeth did not allow herself to linger over the many questions hovering in her mind. There would be time later for such contemplations, after they made camp for the night, after she had a moment to breathe.

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Nathaniel could finally breathe.

Fresh air infused Nathaniel's lungs as he stepped out of the abandoned mine. His eyes closed, a deep draught of air drawn in, an attempt to cleanse his lungs. Underground the air had been thick, the cloying scent of the decay assailing his nostrils with every inhale. The darkspawn had been everywhere, making him feel on edge, the sensation of their presence causing a skitter-skatter itch to creep, persistent, upon his skin just as he had felt in Kal'Hirol.

But this place had been different. Darkspawn had imprisoned them, stripping the wardens of their armor and gear. Darkspawn fought to injure, not kill. Darkspawn experimented upon them. He was sure of it.

His last memory before waking to find Elizabeth sleeping next to him was of a twisted creature with sallow, stretched and reformed skin staring down upon them. His vision spun, a dizzying dance of pressure pressed down upon his head before there was nothing, only blackness. Then came the faces and voices. The images in his mind collided, a collage of pictures of questionable reality and horror-filled imagination. Was it truth? Was it dreaming? It was all too difficult to determine at the time.

He glanced to his companions, each in their own way exhibiting a version of relief at being freed from their underground confinement. Oghren drank and Anders made wise cracks. But Elizabeth? She seemed unphazed. A picture of cool perfection, she ushered the group to push on. They could make good progress before full nightfall if they hurried.

It was a lie, this act of hers. Another thing he was sure of.

He had seen the way she slumbered on the cell floor. There was a peacefulness to her expression, a tranquility that came only with a lack of worries or cares upon the mind. The hardness and coolness that had become her constant companion was gone, washed away within a placid and peaceful repose. It was a look he had not seen her wear since their untimely reunion.

She had looked beautiful.

Silently, he cursed himself for such thoughts and tried to push them from his mind. They were inappropriate at the time, and even more so now. Though the biology of cruelty bound their current paths together, a chasm existed between them. Connected through blood and divided by it at the same time. He could never undo his father's actions just as she could not undo her own.

But even as they made camp that evening, he found himself unable to shake that vision. At the time, the urge to reach out and brush the pads of his fingers against the softness of her cheek had risen. Nerves twisted into a stubborn knot of want he did not understand and he knew he had to resist. Their fathers, his actions, her actions, her position as his commander, there was no shortage of reasons he needed to exercise restraint.

He avoided her as best he could, making excuses to get clean at a nearby stream, to forage for more wood for the fire, to scout out the surrounding area. But he could not stay away forever. Eventually he returned and found only Elizabeth by the fire.

Green eyes appeared transfixed, staring off into faraway places found in the flame of memories. Quiet footsteps failed him, an attempt to silently disappear into his tent ended as she turned to look at him. He felt himself tense reflexively at her stare.

"I was just about to turn in," he explained, a hand gesturing to his awaiting tent.

"Nathaniel, I wanted to ask you something."

They had not spoken since the night in her rooms, the night the façade she clung to so desperately failed her in a stream of tears.

His compassion, her break down, neither had wanted to address the topic the day after. And he had even less of a desire to discuss it now. "Can it wait?" His voice was harsh, tone touched with fatigue.

"Sit." It was the command of a superior, not the request of a friend.

Lips pressed together firmly, displeasure evident as he took a seat next to Elizabeth.

Her hand rose, a single finger dragging in a light scratch along the top of her head. The angling of her expression softened slightly, a shifting of moods. "Why did your father send you to the Free Marches? I…" She paused, her mouth twisting almost apologetic, "…never heard why."

The question was not what Nathaniel had expected. He assumed she wished to discuss the other night or maybe even what they had experienced within their darkspawn prison. But to dredge up the past like this, to ask about personal things… He sucked in a sharp inhale of breath, the smell of burning wood coating his mouth for a moment. Slowly, he expelled the air and cast a glance towards the fires, his own memories reflected within amber and red flames. "I disappointed him and he felt I needed to be sent away to harden up."

"There was a house servant," he began. "I caught him stealing from the larder and brought it to father's attention. Father asked Thomas and me to cast judgment on the man. I did what I thought my father would have wanted and ordered the man flogged. Thomas recommended the man's hands be cut off so that he never stole again."

Thomas' recommendation had seemed utterly cruel to Nathaniel. It was a death sentence for the man who was only stealing food to feed his family. Nathaniel felt the flogging was a more appropriate sentence for the crime.

His mouth twisted ruefully. "I know now it was a test, a test I failed. Thomas was ruled the better man and I was sent off to the Free Marches." The sarcastic edge of his grin sharpened, "I did not have the mettle to become Arl of Amaranthine."

He had showed mercy, a sin his father could not forgive. And in a way, like the thief who received a death sentence in degrees, Nathaniel received his own in his banishment. That day he died to his father.

The weight of his father's words smothered him at the time.

You are a disappointment, Nathaniel.

A corner of his mouth bit upward, "Was it everything you hoped?"

Elizabeth's chin dropped, sadness touching her mouth. Was she feeling sorry for him? Her hand reached forward, flesh upon flesh as it moved to rest atop one of his in a gentle touch. "He wasn't right so you know… You are the better man. "

His gaze trailed downward, glancing at the fingertips resting atop his hand. Delicate, a lady's hand, it was hard to fathom it was one and the same that slew the infamous Rendon Howe. It was difficult to believe it belonged to the hardened creature that Elizabeth Cousland had become. It was impossible to reconcile the way it made him feel.

"I did not think that at the time." But now? He tried to take his father's words for their worth, as a compliment to his better qualities and the failings of his father. He was never the man his father wished him to be and that was a good thing. In his compassion, there was strength of character. In his caring, there was honor.

He withdrew his hand from hers, instead dipping it into a pocket of his armor, the pocket he kept his secrets, the pocket he kept her father's ring. It was time to return what had been lost, to give her back a sliver of the past in the hopes of making something good out of his present. He had no interest in clinging to his father's trophies or having part of what that man stood for and was.

"I…found something at the Keep." With his free hand, he took hold of hers, flipping it over to reveal her palm. Lightly, he pressed the ring into her skin. "I believe it was your father's."

"How…" The words trailed off as she stared down at her hand and the token placed therein. "…how long have you had this?" The crack, the tremble in her voice he heard once before in her moment of vulnerability.

The lie came before he even realized he had told it, "I only just found it…before we left."

"It is…was his ring."

"I remember," he said simply, all too well remembering the ring upon Bryce Cousland's finger. Nathaniel as a very young boy had asked about it once before having admired the trinket.

_It has been in my family for many years, Nathaniel, just as your father's has been in his and someday I shall give this to one of my children much as your father will give his ring to one of you._

He had to wonder if Bryce Cousland ever had even a glimpse into the true man Rendon Howe was. Nathaniel had to suppose he had not, otherwise he would not have let his father get so close to his family.

"Thank you." Elizabeth fidgeted for a moment, a bit of nervousness he had never seen her exhibit before. The composed and commanding creature he had grown accustomed to seeing faltered. "I should find some…" Her fingers brushed against the top of her chest. "…string."

To wear it…

His own hands reached about his head, nimble digits easily undoing the leather strand used to keep his braids in place. Braids loosened, falling to frame the side of his face. "Here," he said as he gave the tie to her.

She took the offering and hooked the ring upon the leather. Holding up the makeshift necklace to Nathaniel and turning slightly, she made a request, "Please?"

It was strange, this gawky truce of sorts set between the pair. Just moments before, when she ordered him to sit, Nathaniel would have never suspected he would find himself at her side. He would not have suspected he would be about to tie a necklace, of sorts, about the very neck he once meant to snap. Those feelings were now gone. He hated what she had done. But he realized, as he looked upon her, that he did not hate her. Far from it.

He tied the strand together in a small knot at the nape of her neck. His thumbs glided against her skin, soaking in the feel of it, the warmth and softness. Those things he wished to do earlier and had not allowed himself.

She did not flinch as he thought she might.

His hands continued to seek out the unfamiliar, dropping to the tops of her shoulders and then dragging down the length of her arms only stopping as they reached the tops of her hands.

He expected her to stiffen, to pull away and look at him with an admonishing gaze.

She did not.

Rather she leaned into the touch, her back moving to press against his chest. Instead of pushing his hands away, she welcomed them, fingers entwining about his as she adjusted the position of his arms to wrap about her waist, holding her in a moment of quiet intimacy.

It seems forever that they sit there like that, within the clutch of the other while quietly staring off into the fire. No matter how much Nathaniel wanted to deny it there was a connection there between them, a bond forged within the sadism of his father.

She was so close and the litany of reasons he catalogued in his mind earlier were not enough to smother the swell of want. His cheek pressed against hers, dragging back so that his mouth could find her ear. He breaks the silence between them, whispering not her title, but her name, "Elizabeth."

"Nathaniel," she said in return, her head shifting to edge away from his mouth. "Don't."

Cool water splashed upon his face. "Don't what?"

There is a sense of desperation to the tightness of the squeeze of her hand before she pulled away, disengaging herself from him. Her eyes find his as she turned to face him. "I…." Posture straightened, a figure he knew all too well taking control of her features once again. The commander had returned. "Thank you. You should get some sleep. We leave at first light."

Hands ran through his hair, dislodging the last remnants of the braids and tucking the loose strands behind his ears. A door had opened only to slam in his face. What had just happened, he was not sure. It was obvious, however, there would be no discussion on the point, not at that moment. Rather than fight her or allow her to see the frustration roiling within, he stood and simply nodded to her and said not her name, but her title, "Commander."


	19. Erected Walls

For a moment, Elizabeth lost herself. There was comfort in Nathaniel's grasp; a strength she would never admit she needed to feel. Alistair had done this. He would hold her tightly against him and make her feel safe – all the problems of the world forgotten in a quiet exchange of intimacy. Alistair and she found strength in each other, allowing the other to fortify those parts of themselves that needed the support.

But, Nathaniel was not Alistair.

It had been a mistake letting him see her in such a moment of vulnerability. It had been a mistake to allow him to penetrate the armor she'd constructed around herself. She had been weak and let the tears, the self-disgust, the warmth of his embrace and a momentary lapse of reason get the better of her.

It would not happen again.

She was his Commander. The threads of the past that tied them together in the present ceased to matter the moment he drank from the chalice and became her brother in blood. Her father, his father, all that happened at Highever and beyond needed to be pushed aside and forgotten. He was a soldier, her soldier to command.

Emotions and connections, these things complicated matters. Elizabeth and Nathaniel had a mission as Grey Wardens. Duty sung to them through the taint within their blood. Ferelden, Amaranthine required their aid. The darkspawn threat persisted and demanded their attention.

And Nathaniel was not Alistair.

The words repeated in her head as they left the Keep the next morning. An awkwardness persisted in the air – both having difficulty finding a proper footing after the events of the previous of evening. He had smiled at her at first, a simple twist of the lips that at one time she craved. Now, it left her uncomfortable and uncertain. She reciprocated with an impassive expression and a barked order.

A chilling of the waters was the only way she knew how to cope. It was easier that way. Through coolness she could avoid thinking about how he made her feel, about how for the first time since Alistair's passing she felt relief in the company of another, however brief.

She kept a distance from him as they walked. Glances were bestowed sparingly and only when necessary. Contact was kept at a minimum. To look at him, to see him look at her, only caused her to remember and the swell of guilt and disquietude engulfed her.

She sought a distraction as they set up camp for the evening and her eyes settled upon Oghren. The conflict between them had yet to be settled. Words went unspoken and the distance grew. The man had changed so much since the Blight. A darkness surrounded the dwarf that had been her friend, drowning him within casks of ale and buckets of brandy.

Elizabeth could see that now, her vision mostly cleared of the fog of her remorse. Oghren was hurting much in the same way she had. The alcohol, the drunkenness, the avoidance of Felsi and the life he built with her were ways for him to cope and deal.

She was not the only one to walk away from the Blight still injured.

Oghren sat atop a fallen log, elbows pressed into his knees, a skin of ale grasped between grime covered fingers. The light that once shone in his eyes even in the drunkest of times had long since faded. Something dark and hollow remained as he stared into the growing tendrils of flame within the freshly lit fire.

She took a seat next to him, shoulder bumping against his in a casually awkward hello.

He greeted her gruffly, gaze not straying from the fire, "I'm not cooking, so don't ask."

"I'd prefer not to be sick in the middle of the night and all day tomorrow. Don't worry, I won't ask you to cook." She could not imagine a world where anyone would voluntarily eat Oghren's cooking. "Oghren…about Felsi." There was no nice way to broach the topic. The delicate and subtle touch would never have worked on Oghren. He was everything brash and blunt. When dealing with the dwarf, the direct and honest approach was always preferred.

His brow furrowed, a suspicious eye cast in Elizabeth's direction, "What about her?"

"About that day…" As much as she wanted to be angry at Oghren for how he acted that day, his actions had been the catalyst she needed. His insensitivity pushed her over the edge and onto the road of acceptance.

But Oghren did not let her finish what she wished to say, cutting her off with a roll of the shoulders and a glance back to the fire, "Yeah uh….been meaning to talk to you about that. I was an ass. I just wasn't thinking. Seeing Fels got me all riled up and such."

The apology was unexpected, at least so quickly. It caught her off guard, causing an uncomfortable silence to mix with the soft crackling of the fire. If the apology had been so easy to say, why had he held onto it for so long? She knew the answer, of course. She had not been the most approachable of individuals, a wall of self-defense constructed to keep all out, to keep emotions at bay. This wall crumbled the previous evening, small cracks widening into irreparable tears.

Nathaniel. She did not want to think about him.

Hands idly twisted about one another. Her head canted to the side, an intent look bestowed to Oghren, "Why did you leave her?"

The liquor flowed freely into Oghren's awaiting mouth, rivulets of ale dripped along his chin and facial hair. He swiped his arm and the cloth atop it over his mouth, wiping away the liquid residue. A long sigh rumbled from deep within his chest, his head shaking as he spoke, "I'm just not the settling down type. Branka cured me of that. I gave it a go with Fels but it just wasn't going to happen." He shrugged as if shirking off all responsibility with the gesture, "I never pretended to be something I wasn't. She knew I would never settle down again, not really. She had to know it was coming."

How many times Branka must have told Oghren what a failure he was, she wondered. The woman was gone, but the injuries she inflicted had yet to heal. The scars of that relationship marked Oghren, leaving him damaged and broken. But he did not have to stay that way. He did not have to let her win. "Oghren, I don't think you tried hard enough. You can't use Branka as an excuse forever."

He snorted. The brown of his eyes found her green. A bushy brow cocked, "You mean like you're doing with the little pike twirler?"

Lips pinched together, silenced. Even in the haze of the liquor, even in the thrall of all his demons and problems, logic managed to make an appearance. He was right. But Alistair was different than Branka. Or was he? Both died defending causes they believed in. Both left behind lovers that felt the death was their faults.

But this was not about Alistair and she did not want to think about her own faults and issues. The point of the conversation was deflection, to steer her mind along a different course of focus. "This isn't the same, Oghren, and you know that. Alistair is dead and we never had a child together." Her posture straightened, the tug of her shoulders tightened. "Felsi is very much alive and you've a child. You need to remember that."

Deep, melancholy weighing heavy in an exhale of air, Oghren said, "The nugget does have me torn up inside. Ya got a point there. Little one won't understand why I'm not around."

The idea of a child living without a parent was painful for her to contemplate. Such innocence shined within the eyes of the youth. They lacked an adult's understanding of the world and yet to be tarnished by the cruelty of living. She was jealous of children, to live in a world free of reality's taint. "Probably not. A child should not have to grow up not knowing their parents. There's no reason you cannot be part of the child's life. No reason why you should not be part of his life, Oghren."

"I got to admit, little nugget is damn cute. Takes after his father." Pride pierced through the dark swirls of Oghren's expression, a light shining bright within the brown of his eyes. "Maybe I could visit once in a while, write some letters. That's the least I could do as..a father. And hey…" Sarcastic laughter interrupted his words briefly. "... the little one will grow up thinking Daddy's a great hero."

"Well, I don't know if I would go that far…" She teased him, a moment of levity needed to lighten the suffocating seriousness lingering in the air.

A chortle of laughter erupted deep within Oghren's stomach, "Kick me in the gut why don't ya?"

Strange the friendships that time and experience created. If asked five years back if she would expect to see herself sitting and having a conversation with a dwarf, a dwarf she considered friend, Elizabeth would have thought the idea crazy, impossible. But there she sat, the burly man at her side one of the few people left in all of Thedas to successfully lay claim to the title of her friend. "You are one of the few friends I have left Oghren," she confessed to him, chin dropping as she looked down to the ground.

More laughter, this time sprinkled with relief escaped Oghren. "Glad to hear that I didn't sodding mess that up too."

"Not yet, but if you keep drinking like you're trying to drown yourself, you might. I'm not going to tell you to stop because I know that would do no good. But you need to get control of yourself, Oghren, or I will have to do something about it."

"Hearing ya loud and clear, Commander." A little grin appeared, "Now that we are buds again, I want a pony…"

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Nathaniel found release in the hunt. Only the sounds of the forest and the steady beat of his heart filled his ears. In the trees and other greenery of Amaranthine he always found comfort and solace. Silently he stalked his prey. The deer supped on fallen branches from a tree.

Sinew stretched in a creak as Nathaniel rested the arrow against the knocking point of his bow. The deer's head raised, the whisper of the bowstring's extension causing its ears to prickle. Nathaniel's breath held in. Another sound, even so simple as an exhalation might have caused the deer to take flight. He had played this game before many a time and stayed perfectly still and waited.

The seconds passed slowly before the deer lowered its head and continued eating its dinner, no threat perceived. In that moment, Nathaniel took his shot. The aim of his arrow did not miss and connected along the slender slope of the animal's neck, causing it to drop to the ground.

This night, they would feast on venison.

He wandered back to camp, the deer tugged along by a rope he had tied about its neck. The fire was still within its first breaths of life, tiny flames flickering eagerly, hungrily, against the freshly gathered wood. Sitting by the fire, Nathaniel saw Oghren and Elizabeth engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation.

He could have interrupted, but did not.

Nathaniel and Elizabeth parted silently the evening before. Her tears spent, she pushed away from him and turned her back. The message was obvious – he was no longer required. The honorable man showed compassion to a lady in distress. Nathaniel wished to be honorable, to be all those things his father was not. To offer his assistance to Elizabeth had been the right thing to do. Yet why had it left him feeling so uncomfortable? Why did a heavy blanket of awkwardness cloak them both in those last moments in which he lingered in her rooms before taking his leave? Some questions would not find answers no matter how hard he searched.

The cloddishness had persisted in the morning. He found Elizabeth in the courtyard, readying the other Wardens for their trip to the Wending Wood. He approached her with trepidation, unsure if he should mention the previous evening, if he should ask her how she felt. The space that had narrowed between them within the embrace of the prior night widened once again; a fissure of discomfiture divided them with cool indifference and a purposefully evasive stare.

She did not wish to speak of it, nor did he.

Nathaniel stood back, letting the shadow of a tree obscure him. The relationship between Elizabeth and Oghren had been strained since the day Oghren's wife paid the Keep with a surprise visit. The congenial manner in which they spoke by the fire, the way her mouth upturned in a smile at the dwarf's laugh implied that division had been healed.

The laughter that flowed from Elizabeth's lips, the light dancing across her skin and brightening her eyes as she smiled suited her. For a moment, Nathaniel was drug back into the past. The here, the now, the enormity of the task ahead were forgotten within a flash of teeth and a curve of the mouth.

He wanted to wipe her smile away with his mouth, to bruise those upturned lips with his own. The suddenness of the thought froze him in place. When had that happened? When had he… A changing of colors, from grays and mottled browns wisped into reds and greens of wants and envies. His eyes had been opened to a reality, a possibility he had never considered or thought he desired.

He wanted her and it scared him. It had to be a lie.

He turned his gaze away, a drag of attention focusing upon anything, something, whatever was not her. The deer abandoned, he disappeared back into the thick of trees circling the camp site and stopped at a small creek fifty feet or so away.

Squatting by the shore, he cupped a small portion of water and splashed it against his face. He needed to snap out of whatever had just happened back at the camp. His compassion from the prior night was flaring up again. That was all.

Do not be a fool, he told himself.

Another lashing of cool water assaulted him, slapping against the exposed skin at the nape of his neck. He had shown pity the other night, yes. His actions were based on a foundation of doing opposite of his father. But that did not change that he hated the woman. She killed his father, a man that admittedly deserved to die. Still, that did not give her the right to exact vengeance as she had. It did not give her the right to lord over him his life, saved with the Joining. It did not give her the right to relish in putting him in the place Couslands had put Howes for generations.

Both hands reached into the water, a final dose of the icy tonic dousing his face.

He'd simply been without a woman for some time. Feelings that had gone ignored were cropping up. It was nothing real, merely animal and primal. She was a woman. He was a man. It was nothing more simple than that.

He stood, his hand dipping into a small pocket within the armor. He did not know why he carried it with him. The ring in his grasp did not belong in the hands of a Howe. It was hers. It was Cousland, stolen from the hands of a dying man in the name of ambition and power. The ring burned, searing the skin with knowledge of its origin.

All he had known or thought he knew was a lie, carved in brittle stone and shattered. His life goals, the history he believed, truth and falsehoods collided making it impossible to distinguish between the two. Who was he? Grey Warden, an orphan, Nathaniel Howe. Who was she? Grey warden, an orphan, Elizabeth Cousland. The answers were many and the same, their true meaning, however, blurred within shades of grey.


	20. Truth

Nathaniel could not sleep.

No matter how hard he pressed his eyelids down, no matter how much he willed it, sleep evaded him. His mind was too active, filled with thoughts and questions about his earlier encounter with Elizabeth. Each deep breath he inhaled in an attempt to lull himself to sleep only complicated matters further, each intake of air serving to remind him of Elizabeth. The scent of her cloyed at his nose, tickling his sense memory with a cruel stroke.

He was not sure how long he laid there before he eventually gave up and decided to leave give up the notion of restful slumber. Peering outside of his tent, he noted the blush of dawn had yet to touch the horizon.

It was simply too early.

Edging outside, he felt the chill of the morning air slice against his skin, causing an involuntary shiver. He walked toward the remains of the fire, smoldering embers and nothing more. His eyes lingered upon the log they had sat upon the night before. He still wasn't entirely sure why he'd given her the ring or why he lied to her about its origin.

In the cold light of day, he was forced to be honest. He knew why he lied. He had lied because he did not want Elizabeth to see him so easily manipulated. He lied because he did want to admit to himself that he was so easily fooled.

Esmerelle tricked him, played on his anger and hate to push him along a dishonorable path. Holding onto the ring any further meant giving support to Esmerelle and her schemes. Whatever the differences between Elizabeth and him, he no longer wished malice upon her, at least not the type that Esmerelle had in mind.

Elizabeth was an enigma to him. One moment there would be signs of feeling, flashes of emotions, wants and even desires flaring bright and welcoming within her. Other times, however, she appeared encased in a glacier, untouchable and numb. She was composed conflicting personas – woman and commander – and he was unsure how to reconcile them.

As much as he wished it was not true, he felt a connection with her. There were so many reasons to ignore his feelings, so many obstacles between them. But the very things that should have caused a persistent division between them, tied them together with frayed similarities. The Blight took from them their families, the futures they thought were theirs to claim, everything they had known as truth was turned upside due to his father's machinations.

As he stood looking at the remnants of the campfire, he had to wonder if things would have been better if remained in the Free Marches, if he had never returned home to Amaranthine. Elizabeth and he would not have reunited as they had. He would not have become a Grey Warden. The anger that fueled him after his father's death still would have had its claws deep within his skin.

Hatred was simple, clear. A singular purpose had guided him. Black and white was certain, well defined.

His return home had been filled with one conflicting emotion after the other. The things he learned about his family, about the things he father had done fractured Nathaniel's reality. What had once been straight forward and true beyond question was now left him flustered. He no longer knew what to think, what to feel, or what to make of Elizabeth and both her actions and inactions.

He resolved one thing: he could not continue to live like this, in the ether between hate and something else, constantly floating in a state of the unknown. If they kept their usual pace, the group would return to the Vigil by day's end. Nathaniel decided to confront Elizabeth then. No more games. No more guessing.

The walk back to the Vigil was filled with anticipation. He'd been quiet for most of the journey home, the conversation to come and what it might mean dominating his thoughts. He could not remember the last time he had been so nervous about something. He knew his father would not approve and could hear his voice echoing from the Fade with disapproval. That only proved to encourage Nathaniel more.

They arrived back at the Keep as the sun began to set. Routine would have them all returning to their rooms, cleaning the dust off their gear and bodies and then reconvening in the mess hall for a meal.

Nathaniel did not wish to wait that long to speak to Elizabeth. He approached her as they entered the main hall, his palm pressing against her shoulder in an attempt to garner her attention, "Commander, might I have a moment of your time?"

Elizabeth's brows pinched together curiously. Surely, she was not oblivious as to what he would wish to speak to her about? But before she could answer him, Varel advanced with Bann Esmerelle at his flank.

"Bann Esmerelle, here is the commander." Varel's gauntleted hand motioned to Elizabeth. "What was this great and urgent matter you wished to speak to her about?"

Suspicion colored Nathaniel's expression as he watched the bann. Esmerelle was not in her usual dress. Armor was her outfit of choice for this visit and her weapons were worn upon her back. But why? A show of force? An attempt to intimidate?

"I am here about the good arl. The good arl you killed." Venom laced her tone as Esmerelle leered at Elizabeth. This was apparently not a visit of good will.

Instinct drew Nathaniel's hands behind his back, reaching for his bow. Following suit, Anders and Oghren drew their weaponry. Elizabeth, however, remained calm, her sword and dagger kept within their sheaths.

"I had suspected you were still loyal to the traitor," Elizabeth said in an unsurprised manner. "Thank you for confirming my suspicions."

The dispassionate nature of Elizabeth's tone met its counter in the anger of Esmerelle's. "Rendon was good to us." Anger faded briefly and sorrow laid claim. "Good to me." Composure forged within the fires of deserved retribution returned. "And now his death will finally be avenged."

The arrow came from nowhere. Varel's movements were rapid and without warning. The bolt meant for Elizabeth connected into the meat of the Seneschal's shoulder, knocking the man to the ground.

Nathaniel's gaze darted to the source of the attack. From shadow and from behind pillars, they spilled out. He knew the look, having seen the men in his father's home many years ago – assassins, Antivan if he was not mistaken. Amongst their number were the faces of other members of the Amaranthine nobility, men and woman Nathaniel recognized as having been quite loyal to his father.

Esmerelle had planned a coup and Nathaniel had almost aligned himself with such treachery. The sickness that tugged at his stomach was temporarily ignored, pushed aside by the adrenaline of battle and a newfound desire for revenge of his own.

The flight of his arrows was a reprisal against the man that wished to mold him into something horrible, a mirror image of a monster. The manipulations and lies of his father and, to some extent, Esmerelle nearly twisted Nathaniel into a creature forged in hatred and malice.

He was not them. They were not him.

Nathaniel was not sure how long the fight lasted. What started quickly and without notice ended almost as speedily. In the end, most of the attackers lay dead upon the Keep floor. Only Esmerelle appeared to be alive, pinned beneath the point of Elizabeth's sword.

He walked toward her, bow clutched tightly in his grasp. The woman upon the ground wore the face of his father, spoke his words, and Nathaniel wished to see her die.

Rebellious strands of hair freed within combat framed Elizabeth's face. She stared down at Esmerelle with rancor. Any façade of neutrality held before, cast aside. Her body tensed, gloved fingers squeezing upon the hilt of the sword, dangerously close to plunging it deep within the traitorous bann's chest.

Esmerelle met the display with a laugh, lips spreading into a smile of rebellious amusement. Her gaze appeared affixed to an item hanging from the commander's neck, the ring Nathaniel had given her the night before. "Lovely ring you have there, Elizabeth."

"I hardly think that now is the time to be commenting on my choice of jewelry, Esmerelle." The blade pressed down eliciting a wince from Esmerelle, cracking her smug cast for a moment.

"Oh but I cannot think of a more appropriate time." Dark eyes found him, a promise within their depths. If she was to die, she would not go gently. "It was Bryce's, yes?"

The world collapsed beneath his feet and he found himself paralyzed, unable to move, to stop what he knew was coming. So focused in finding the truth, he had purposefully ignored his own deceptions.

"And…"

Curiosity tipped with malicious intent filled Esmerelle's tone, "Wherever did you find it?"

"I'm done playing your games, Esmerelle." Elizabeth pushed the sword down once again, sinking slightly into the bann's flesh.

Esmerelle's cried out, screams mixing with a fresh wave of laughter. "Did he give it to you?" She glanced a look at Nathaniel. "He did, didn't he? How….quaint. And did you tell her how you came upon it, Nathaniel?" She answered her own question before either Elizabeth or Nathaniel could. "Of course he didn't. Why would he? Allow me to tell you. From his father….well at least indirectly. I gave it to him as a sign of friendship."

The focus of Elizabeth's green eyes landed squarely upon Nathaniel. "Friendship?"

"Oh you poor girl, you really do trust too easily. Such a family flaw, it seems."

With a snap of the head, Elizabeth looked back to Esmerelle. Anger fueled her words, "You are hardly in a position to talk to me about such things." He was spared the judgment of her eyes as Elizabeth continued to watch Esmerelle, "Is this true, Nathaniel?"

He was not sure what to say. "I…Elizabeth…."

"Is this true?" There was pleading in the look that fell upon him. She wanted it to not be true, he could see as much. He could have perpetuated the lie, to have claimed Esmerelle was making the whole thing up. That was what his father would have done.

"Yes."

Silence pressed down upon him heavily as he waited on Elizabeth to move, to speak. Part of him wished to explain himself, to tell her how wrong he had been to ever trusted the woman upon the ground. But he knew it was too little, too late. Empty words from the mouth of a traitor's son. She was a woman that did not trust easily and she had, in her way, trusted him. He knew this.

He was not surprised to hear her orders when she finally did speak. "Oghren, Anders, take Nathaniel's weapons from him and lead him to his room. He is not to leave there until I give the order."

His fellow wardens flanked him, Anders reaching for Nathaniel's weaponry and Oghren offering his ass a nice kick of the boot. "Fergus was right about you," Oghren rumbled as he pushed Nathaniel once more.

As Oghren and Anders led Nathaniel away, he could not help but find some kind of sick humor in this situation of his own creation. He had based his life on a lie for so long, believing everything his father said and did. There was something sadly funny about his circumstances. In the end, as much as he had come to wish to be the opposite of his father, Nathaniel's own lies were possibly to be his undoing.

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"As for you..." Elizabeth disengaged her sword, taking a step back from Esmerelle. "…take her to the dungeons. I will deal with her shortly."

Blood-slicked weapons were offered to a guard. The order implied: Clean them. Too much blood had been spilled at the Keep. Would Nathaniel's soon be required as well? Green eyes uplifted, looking to the exit Oghren and Anders were currently leading Nathaniel through. His betrayal stung more than she'd like to admit.

He cast a glance over his shoulder, easily finding her gaze. He appeared sorry. But was it sadness at being caught in a lie or in having told it to begin with? If she asked herself that question the day before, she would have thought he was sorry at having lied. Now she simply did not know.

The night before, something had happened between them. Within the muddied waters of emotional confusion, their connection became something tangible. The gesture of her father's ring, the heated comfort of his embrace, both elicited responses in her she had thought herself no longer capable of.

It scared her.

Ultimately, that was why she pushed him away and ran to the safety of her tent. There was a time when the idea of Nathaniel's touch excited her when she was younger and far more naïve. She knew better now and yet the temptation had been there all the same, to forget everything, to allow herself to drown within what she now realized was all an illusion.

The lines between truth and lies were blurred in her mind. The things she felt that separated Nathaniel from his father were sullied with the taint of his treachery. But how deep did his deceptions run? The doubt was there, the pressing need to make excuses for a person she had grown to trust – a person she had grown to perhaps, need.

She'd tried to keep Nathaniel at arm's length - to not let him or anyone in. But it proved impossible. The heart and mind wished two different things. Friendship, companionship, she missed the attachments to others and the comforts provided in such relationships. The smallest of tastes was enough to make her long for more, to realize all she missed in her detachment. As much as she thought she needed to stay disconnected and reinforce the barrier so carefully constructed about her, in the end, she needed those connections with others to survive, to recover, to tether her to the world she was duty-bound to help.

That moment in her room when the guilt of her actions brought forth a seemingly endless stream of tears, Nathaniel had been the one to offer her his shoulder. He had been there to help her bear the pain she'd born so long on her own. He appeared to understand without her needing to speak. He was simply there because she needed it. There had been no judgment, no extended hand in need of help. There was only acceptance.

Or was there?

She did not want to believe that was all a lie, a farce perpetuated by an alignment with his father's most loyal friend. These were simply the falsehoods of a deranged woman bent on revenge for a lost lover. But, they were not a lies. No matter how much she wished to deny the truth, in a single word, the image she constructed of Nathaniel in her mind shattered. She no longer knew what to believe, what to trust in. If she had been wrong about Nathaniel, not only could she no longer trust him, she would no longer be able to trust herself and her own judgment.

Esmerelle's words were remembered.

_Oh you poor girl, you really do trust too easily. Such a family flaw, it seems._

Had she narrowly avoided walking into the same trap as her father had with Rendon? There was only way to find out. She needed to speak with Nathaniel, to try to get from him what he had not given her before, the truth.

The wound suffered by Varel was glancing. He would surely live with the attentions of an herbalist. After seeing to his needs and ordering the cleanup of the main hall, Elizabeth went to her rooms. She tried to prepare herself for what might be required, but no amount of fresh water splashed upon her face could cease the fraying of her nerves. She would do what needed to be done as she always had, but this was a decision she did not wish to make. It was a decision she did not want to make.

Armor removed and clean clothing donned, she traveled the short distance between her rooms and his. The door was open when Elizabeth arrived, both Anders and Oghren watching over a seated Nathaniel. "You can both go," she ordered.

Oghren shook his head, meaty fingers whitening as he gripped the hilt of his axe more firmly. "Not sure that's such a great idea Commander."

"As much as I hate to agree with the dwarf," Anders leaned forward, hand cupping the side of his mouth as he added, "And I really hate to agree with the dwarf. I don't think that is a good idea."

"Just go." It was risky telling the other wardens to leave, but even in the face of Nathaniel's betrayal, she did not believe he would try to kill her, not now.

Grumbling, Oghren said to Anders, "There's no convincing her when she gets that face." He crooked his chin to motion to the doorway and began walking toward it. "Come on Sparkle Fingers, let's go wait outside in the hall." He threw a look of warning toward Nathaniel, "I'll be listening for trouble."

Elizabeth shut the door behind Oghren and Anders then leaned against it, a foot propping to rest against the wood. She watched Nathaniel for some time, neither of them saying a word to one another. So much needed to be said but neither was saying it, asking it. How was she to begin? How was he?

Rising from his chair, Nathaniel wandered toward the hearth, hands pressing into the mantle, head dipping to look down at the weak fire rasping desperately for life. "So am I to hang from the gallows after all?"

It was an odd opening question, but one Elizabeth did not blame him for asking. Were their positions reversed, she could see herself wishing to know her fate sooner rather than later. The truth was she did not know what to tell him. "Is that what you want," she asked as she pushed away from the door and walked to him and the hearth.

Dryly, he snorted, head turning slightly so that he could look at her, "No, of course not."

She did not think so. She leaned into the wall, shoulder pressing into stone. "Then what do you want, Nathaniel?" The anger and pain were there, but she kept it disguised beneath a veneer of impassivity.

"It doesn't matter what I want. My father certainly never cared. You…" He shook his head and sighed heavily, posturing straightening, a step taken back from the fireplace. "…It never has mattered before. Why should it matter now?"

"Then tell me why." She needed to hear his reasoning to try and understand.

There was no hesitation, his answer coming quickly and calmly. "You killed my father."

Her mouth pinched together, a frown touching its width. "He deserved it."

The gaze that landed upon her was pointed, but not barbed. Sad yet tinged with acceptance, he regarded her for a moment before nodding, "Yes, perhaps he did."

For some time, she wished for him to realize this truth, to recognize that Elizabeth had been justified in her actions against his father. And yet, she was still taken aback slightly by the admission.

Her hand trailed across the linen fabric of her shirt, brushing against the necklace worn beneath. The necklace, the ring, the reason for her visit here, it pulled her back to the conversation at hand and the unanswered questions. Seeing the truth about this father did not excuse Nathaniel's lies to her. "Where did the ring come from?"

He turned to the side, an elbow shifting to rest atop the mantle. "She left it for me here in the Keep in a place my father liked to hide things."

The revelation Rendon had shared his hiding posts with Esmerelle erased any doubts Elizabeth had to the exact nature of Esmerelle's relationship with Rendon. "Did you know what Esmerelle had planned?"

"Absolutely not." There was no malice. There was no scorn. "I have not spoken to her since we left Amaranthine. I swear it."

"You swore on your family's honor to me once before," she said plainly, remembering his oath the night she made him a Grey Warden. He made that oath and then began his alliance with Esmerelle. "How do I know you are not lying to me again merely to save your own hide?"

"You don't."

No, she did not. Therein lied the problem. Desperate, she searched her mind for a single reason to spare Nathaniel, to give him a chance yet again. Even if he lied to her, even if he possibly deserved a trip to the gallows, she could not send him there. She wanted to hate him for lying to her, to condemn him. But, when she really thought about it, if she had been in his position, she would have done the same thing. She did do the same thing in a respect.

She said the words spoken the day of Nathaniel's conscription. "I have decided what to do with you."

He stood silently and waited her judgment.

"No, you will not hang from the gallows. You will continue on as a Grey Warden."

"For what it is worth, I am sorry I lied to you about the ring. I was…" He sucked in a heavy breath, exhaling it slowly. "…ashamed and so I lied." He took a step toward her. "Can I ask you something? Truth for truth?"

Her curiosity piqued, "What is that?"

"Last night," he began. "…what happened?"

He was going to ask her this now? "Nothing happened, Nathaniel."

"I might have lied to you about where I found the ring, but don't you lie to me now. Truth for truth." Boundaries were tested, Nathaniel nearing closer to Elizabeth, going so far as to press the palm of his hand upon the wall behind her.

"Nothing happened," she repeated, not wishing to broach the subject.

He shook his head. "You are telling me that you felt nothing, you feel nothing?" The heat of his gaze trailed across the lines of her face, her breath involuntarily hitching at the attention. "I don't believe you."

And the truth was, she did not believe herself either. Something had happened. But that was before his lie, before Esmerelle's attack. "Nothing happened and you are being inappropriate. Don't make me change my mind about you."

Part of her wanted to continue what had been started the previous evening. It was that part of her that froze her in place, made her unable to push Nathaniel away as she knew she should. It was that part of her that stilled her voice and kept her from calling out to Oghren or Anders.

He shook his head again, "I don't believe you."

This was to have been her interrogation of him and not the other way around. Her eyes narrowed upon Nathaniel. "It's the truth."

"It's a lie."

He shadowed her, leather pressed against linen. "I can't breathe, Nathaniel," she murmured. He was smothering her. His presence overwhelmed. The heat of his breath, the smell of oil and leather, the penetrating manner of his gaze, all paralyzed her.

The pad of his thumb traced the line of a cheekbone and trailed along the slant of her chin. Fires long left unattended flared to life. "Tell me again it's a lie and I'll stop. Tell me to stop and I'll stop."

Before she could answer, a loud pounding came from the door. "Everything alright in there," Oghren bellowed from outside.

Two different men, two different answers she could have given and at that moment, she was unsure what to say to either of them - the truth or a lie.


	21. Lies

Everything felt too constrictive, too tight.  Elizabeth had not lied when she said she could not breathe.    Nathaniel smothered her with his presence, a looming figure representing everything she knew was wrong.  He had lied to her.  He had worked with a woman that tried to kill her.  And yet, she did not want Nathaniel to go away.  She was drawn to him in a way she could not explain with logic or reason.

Eyes trailed along the lines of his mouth.  His lips curved smugly, as if he already knew what her response would be and was merely waiting for her to voice it.

She hated him in that moment.

Forehead pressed against forehead.  Green eyes found grey in a stare.  She was drowning.  Guilt and desire collided.  Nathaniel was not Alistair.  Alistair had been her life.  He had been everything light, good, and loving.  Nathaniel was everything dark, bad, and hateful.  The sentimental scars upon her skin, the longing, the pain, the hollow wounds of Alistair’s passing that had yet to heal fully,  all burned urging her to run Urging her to stay.

Of all those around her to break down the protections she raised around herself, Nathaniel proved the only one up to the task.  Purposefully or not, he challenged her. Forced her to face a life beyond the winter of her guilt.  Alistair died.  She had not, no matter how much she wished she had.

Going through the motions, remaining detached was no longer an option.  She was so tired of it all, having no energy to resist the rising tide of want and need she had obscured behind her duty as Warden Commander, behind the guise of the monster that killed her family.  She wanted to feel something other than the weight of all she had done or failed to do.

She allowed her hand to rise, edging slowly through the small channel of space between them.  Fingertips brushed against supple leather. The dust from the day’s travel was still there, but she did not care.  Her words, her actions determined the fate of others.  For the greater good, she treaded the path of what was best for the whole,  her own desires never accounted for.  She plunged into foreign waters, her decision made within a flick fingers as they finally settled upon a buckle of his cuirass. 

“I’m fine,” she said, loud enough for those outside the door to hear.  Her head tipped back, eyes’ focus remaining upon Nathaniel.  “You’re dismissed for the night.  I’ll be fine.”  An intensity filled her stare.  All the longing and hate mixed with a determination to continue what had been started. 

Her voice low, she said to Nathaniel, “You are not dismissed.”  Her hand found another buckle, the latch and all reserve undone. 

Nathaniel had his answer.

Ungloved fingers found the nape of her neck, deftly removing the pins that kept her hair in place.  Hair spilled in loose and wavy tendrils down her chest and his fingers.  Lips found her ear.  He whispered huskily, “Good.”

Her lips found his in an ungentle embrace and everything blurred.  Images from the past of a little girl laying kisses upon her arm, to a lover’s last embrace before an ultimate sacrifice flashed in her mind.  They were the past.  Nathaniel was the present.

The world swirled.  Footing became unsteady, hands fumbled with laces, linen and leather.  She craved skin against skin, mouth against mouth, the feel of him inside her.  Decorum and the little games they played were cast aside.  There was no Commander or subordinate, Howe or Cousland; there was only Elizabeth and Nathaniel. 

The final clasp of Nathaniel’s chest armor undone, Elizabeth’s palms pushed against his chest, bidding him to take a step back.  “I’ll lock the door,” she murmured, already moving toward it.  She wanted no further interruptions.

The others would surely talk, whisper rumors of what was going on behind the closed door of Nathaniel’s room.  But, as she felt his weight lean into her, pressing her against the very door she just secured, the nip of his teeth upon her neck, and the dig of his fingers into her hips, she did not care. Tooth and tongue savored the taste of him.

She felt the pull of hands at her own waist, the hem of her shirt drawn from her pants and lifted upward.  A breathy rasp protested as Nathaniel pulled away from her, their kiss ending just long enough to free her from her blouse. 

They took turns.  Each piece of clothing removed a victory.  Each scrape of battle calloused hands against the smoothness of bared skin a reward. 

Sensation overwhelmed as he pulled away from her mouth once again, a trail of whispered promises edging down her neck to stop along the swell of a breast.  Feather light, lips teased along the tip of a nipple causing her breath to hitch and her hand to bury within his hair.  She could have sworn she felt his mouth tug into a smile at her response.

The world stood still and she gasped.  Nimble fingers slid inside her.  A throaty, “Nathaniel,” creased her lips, her head rolling back against the door they had yet to move away from.  Her leg lifted to hook about his waist, encouragement for him to continue. 

Half-lidded eyes opened, his comment forcing her back into present and through the fog of muddled thoughts.  _Why not, _she wondered for a moment before she realized the answer to her question.  Let the others talk, but there was no reason to let them _hear, _as well.

She took his hand, intending to lead him to the bed.  They made it as far as the hearth.  A tangle of limbs and hungered kisses, they tumbled into a chair nearly, knocking it and them over before Nathaniel steadied them.

Her head rolled back, a breathy sigh escaping her mouth as his settled upon the pulse of her neck.  Without having to be told, Nathaniel seemed to know her weaknesses, her likes.  Each nip of the skin, each gentle caress of his tongue caused every feeling she had avoided out of a sense of despair-inspired duty forgotten to be completely overcome by a deluge of yearning that both terrified and excited her. 

She needed and wanted him in a way she had wanted nothing else in quite some time.

The memories were there.  What to do.  What to touch and how.  This knowledge did not stop the trembling of her hands as she reached between them, her touch settling upon his length.  Finger and thumb brushing against the tip of him.  The sound of his broken breath and the slow uplift of his head so that his gaze captured hers emboldened her to continue.  Her breath sucked in, a lump of _yes_ caught within her throat at the feel of him filling her.  

Their eyes never left the other.

There was pride in the smile that so easily spread to life upon Nathaniel’s mouth, a masculine sort of arrogance splashing self-satisfied in the face of her pleasure.  Fervor fueled the kiss that bruised those upturned lips, her attempt to wipe away his grin.

It worked.

A growl grew in the back of his throat, low and wanton. Fingers that shadowed her hips shifted focus, a nipple pinched, the inside of her thigh stroked. Her moans came in a crescendo, a melody of unspoken pleas to _not stop_. Each jut of his hips was matched in equal intensity by the roll of hers.

She was completely undone at the roving path of his thumb. Gentle, yet not, the right amount of pressure applied and he shattered her to sand. What few threads of reserve remained were slowly untangled within their shared movement. The discord of fractured breaths and muffled cries sang rich and symphonic within her ears until the knot within her stomach finally unraveled completely, a final keening of _yes_ and a flash of overwhelming white.

The pads of Nathaniel's fingers pressed firm into her skin, pinpoints of demand shifting their focus to the curves of her bottom, guiding her faster and harder as she rode the cresting wave of her release. Her weight fell upon his hands, letting him lead the way. She trembled against him, unable to think, unable to move, only able to feel and pant.

Her legs quivered, Nathaniel's thrusts unrelenting, fevered until in a moment of fiery culmination his body tensed in a final buck. His mouth pressed against a shoulder blade, teeth biting down, just barely avoiding the breaking of her skin as the spasms rocked his body. He cried out, a breathy rasp muffled against flesh.

They sat there like that, still, ensnared within the other's grasp, for some time. Elizabeth wanted to pretend, to forget all the decisions and troubles that awaited her outside the confines of Nathaniel's room. She wished to wade within the dark and murky waters devoid of responsibility just a little longer.

She moved her head to rest against his shoulder. The feel of his fingers as they began to comb through her hair was too relaxing, too comforting, none of those things expected or even felt she deserved. Voices repressed within a moment of passion demanded attention. Within the afterglow of a moment, inklings of regret began to return, scratching and clawing.

An attempt was made to silence their call, lips brushing gingerly along the sweat glistened slant of his shoulder. Not now. Later. Just a few more minutes, a few more hours. She was owed as much, was she not?

Nathaniel broke the silence between them, a softly spoken mention of her name, “Elizabeth,” accompanied by a lingering kiss atop her head.

She lifted her head and pressed a finger against his lips, “Shhh.”  She did not want to talk, did not want the illusion of the lie she painted with a brush of the truth to be shattered, not yet.

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Nathaniel had been impulsive, jumping over the precipice of uncertain and into the jagged waters of action.  Elizabeth had told him he would live, that she would not send him to the gallows for his betrayal and yet, he could not leave it at that.  The smart man would have let the Commander leave the room, counted his blessings and appreciated the air he was allowed to continue to breathe.

There were many in his life that would not have called Nathaniel a smart man.

He pressed his luck, unable to let her walk out of the room without hearing some truth of his own.  His mind had been set earlier in the day and the twisting tides of circumstance did little to smother his need to know. 

Nerves were hidden behind a veneer of imperious confidence.  He did not slink away, a scared child content to sup upon the scraps of her mercy or hide behind the banner of _I’m sorry_.  He asked his questions and received the answer he suspected but could not confirm until then.

Whatever it was between them was not imagined, not anymore.  They fed upon the other.  Restraint, reserve, the boundaries that kept them separated and distant were cast aside making everything seem as it should be. 

Coolness gave way to heat.

Indifference faltered in the face of passion. 

Hatred submitted to need.

But in the rightness of it all, the wrongness did not temper its flare.  The last tremors of release already fading into memory, a myriad of wonderings infringed upon the simple quiet of contentment.

_What now? _

_Does this change anything? _

_What does it all mean?_

The puzzle remained still; he had merely found a few more pieces. 

His lips brushed against the top of her head; her name, a whisper upon his lips. But she did not appear to want to speak.  Her head rose, a finger pressing against his mouth, silencing him. 

_If not now, when_, he wanted to ask her, but instead he kissed her finger.  He knew the answer, of course.  When they had to, and not before.  And as much as he wished to face the dawn and all that would come in the light of a new day, he could appreciate the desire to hide within the reticent shadow of night.

A first kiss had been preceded by a desperate compulsion to feel and consume.  Something more primal and urgent infused what followed.  No time was taken to linger, to tease.  And as he looked into green eyes he wondered what Elizabeth would look like squirming beneath him.  _Exquisite,_ he thought.  The yearning to investigate, to learn, to find all those places on her body that would make her skin sing and lips cry out his name in a plea began to take shape. Teeth pressed down upon him, nipping playfully as she smiled at Nathaniel.

That first time he realized his attraction to her it came within the revelation of a smile, a smile he had wanted to wipe away with the crush of his lips.  He had splashed cold water upon his face, attempted to rid himself of the craving.  It had not worked.  And now, faced with such a smile once again, he did what he could not that first time.

Hands cradled her face within their grasp, drawing her to him.  And as his mouth found hers, insistent, determined, he felt her surrender.

Nathaniel took hold of Elizabeth, lifting her along with him as he rose from the chair.  She did not protest, but he had not expected her to.  Neither of them was done with other.  Her legs wrapped about his waist, arms locked behind his head and lips and teeth began fresh abuse of his neck.

She would leave him marked, he was sure, but these were wounds he was not at all eager to have  healed.

He carried her to the bed and allowed her to fall back upon the coverlet as he let her go.  In the dim candlelight offered by a sconce upon the wall, he took in the picture of her – elbows propped against the mattress, her half sitting, half lying down, all in wait of him.

_Take your time, Nathaniel,_ he told himself.

And he did.

He took the time to memorize the angles, curves and lines of her body with the tip of his tongue and the touch of his hands.

He took the time to savor the shudder that vibrated along her body as he sent her over the edge, his head between her thighs.

He took the time to be completely lost within the everything - the clutch of her legs about his waist, the raking of fingernails along the sweat-glistened skin upon his back, and the feel of her surrounding him.

He trembled against her, a moan muffled against the softness of her mouth.  He had taken all the time he could, but he knew the morning would intrude soon.  There was no more to time to spare.

They laid there together, her body cradled against his. He gazed outside the window. The orange tendrils of light that foreshadowed the coming dawn had yet to appear. Brushing a kiss against her ear, fingers entwining about hers, he pulled her more tightly against him and relished in the tactile.

What awaited them, he did not know.  But he dared hope that they were through with the lies.

 

 


	22. Consquences

For the second night in a row, sleep evaded Nathaniel. He was both mentally and physically exhausted. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the face of the woman asleep at his side and an assortment of her various expressions: disappointment, anger and desire. His mind simply would not rest. Questions, doubt, and conflicting feelings made it impossible for him get any kind of respite.

Elizabeth didn't seem to have had the same issue. Nestled within his arms, the heat of her skin melting into against his, she slept. Propped up on an elbow, he watched the slow rise and fall of her chest and the way her lips pressed together softly, the hard lines he'd grown so accustomed to faded.

A part of him bid him to leave before she woke up and let his last memory of their night together be the peaceful way in which she slept and how beautiful she looked. He dreaded the awkwardness he was sure would arrive after she woke. He dreaded she would not able to look him in the eye and those scabs that were just beginning to heal for them both would reopen, their divide reforming.

His actions had been impetuous, prodded by base desires and impatience. He pushed when he should have waited, his timing less than appropriate. He had not been wrong, though. The attraction was there for them both and he regretted nothing. That knowledge did little to calm his fears that Elizabeth would have her regrets, though, and he could not blame her if she did.

She was a not woman that trusted easily. His father had seen to damaging that part of her. For all their differences, he believed she had trusted him. But now? He was not sure. Trust lost was often impossible to regain. She remained, though, not having left in the middle of the night as she could have. That had to count for something. If she did not trust him at least a little, would she have been sleeping so comfortably?

He would not leave. He did not know what their intimacy meant in the long run, be it a single night's tryst or the start of something deeper. He still was not sure what he even wanted to happen. But he was quite certain that if he left, an impenetrable impasse would grow between them. And _that_, he did not want.

He laid there quietly with her in the bed and waited until she began to stir. The light smacking of her lips together was followed by the sweep of her tongue. Her body shifted against his, backside rubbing against him in a wholly _not_ unpleasant way. Staying had, indeed, been the right decision.

The tip of a finger traced the length of her arm, eventually settling upon mid-thigh. His mouth pressed against the skin just behind her ear. "Morning," he murmured.

She shifted atop the bed, rolling onto her back, green eyes searching out grey. An impassive expression he expected. A frown he prepared himself to accept. But as she looked up at him, her smile soft, her hand deliberate in its rove and grasp, he felt himself completely disarmed. "Morning."

They needed to talk, to establish new boundaries, re-construct old ones, something. Words failed him. The awkwardness he feared tumbled down upon him; his mind muddled and unsure. And the _something_ was not helping either. The insistence of her touch, a slow burn of stroking attention wrapped firmly and demanding about length, did not make the waters any clearer.

Talking was overrated.

His hands sought hers out from beneath the covers, grabbing at her wrists and raising her arms over her head as he moved atop her, pinning her beneath him. She did not push him away, instead welcoming Nathaniel with the spread of her legs and the hungered nip of teeth against his chin.

His exhaustion due to lack of sleep and his trepidation about what the morning would bring were both forgotten within a single glide as he sank into her. This was something he could grow accustomed to. No, more than that. Completely absorbed by. He lingered, his rhythm painstakingly slow, prolonging the moment for him and a teasing for her.

Her wrists pushed against his hands, but he did not relent in his hold. Fire sparked within half-lidded green, speaking of a desire much like his own and a need to touch and consume. Whatever started between them the night before had not been settled or ended. Something more primal and demanding awoke in the back of his mind, pushing his hips faster, drawing one hand away from its clutch of hers to hook beneath her knee, tugging her leg up against his side.

His hips rocked into hers, both of them swallowed by the moment. Her back arched, the rasping breaths edging her lips hoarse. A voice in his head tried to break through the fog of his ardor, tried to speak of wrongness and possible mistakes. He silenced their cry with a barely restrained growl and the press of his mouth against Elizabeth's. And though his movements picked up pace, time seemed to slow. Only the creak of the bed beneath them and the melded melody of their gravelly breaths noted its passage.

She tightened around him, a gasp echoing wanton against his mouth and teeth tugging at his lips. He unraveled, his groan husky, control faltering and his grip upon her wrists loosened. New freedom was abused, Elizabeth's fingers seared his flesh and demanded more, pressing into his bottom urging him deeper. He fought to breathe, to not let go, to float within the ether between release and almost there. Will collapsed beneath the unwound, however. A final push and everything shattered.

He laid there atop her, still for a time before rolling to the side, propping himself up upon an elbow. "That was…" Lips brushed against her forehead. "…unexpected." _The last twenty-four hours have been in fact_, he thought.

"Yes, it was," she agreed, the tip of a finger trailing down the sweat-kissed skin of his chest.

A strand of hair that rested against her brow was nudged away by Nathaniel and tucked behind her ear. "You should wear your hair down more often. I…" Did he have the right to say… "…like it."

Something changed within her expression, as if his words somehow muted the happiness she'd basked in so openly just moments before. She wore her hair in the same style as Eleanor, a point Nathaniel had never really considered until that time. But as he watched the shadows of unpleasant memory darken Elizabeth's features, he realized he had said the wrong thing. A simple compliment was all it took to drag them both back into the reality they had been avoiding.

He opened his mouth to offer an apology, but was silenced by the grumble of his stomach and the reminder that he had not eaten since early the previous day. He willed his stomach to quiet. Food could wait. This could not. "Elizabeth…"

"You should go get something to eat," she said, cutting him off and already drawing away from him beneath the shelter of a sheet. Her mouth managed a weak smile. "Go. Bring us both back something. I'll wait here for you. Then we can talk."

Doubt nipped at his stomach. She would not be here when he returned. Excuses were being given. Nothing more. Nothing less. He did not press the point, however, instead choosing to cling to the hope that she would remain.

She did not watch him as he got dressed, her gaze focused anywhere but him, a point that did not escape his notice. He went through the motions, obscuring the lies behind a masquerade of belief. Pants, shirt, boots, he clothed himself and walked back to the bed. "I'll be back soon," he promised, a soft, somewhat hesitant kiss lain upon her lips.

He left the room and shut the door behind him. His back pressed against wood, he lingered in the hallway for a moment. Heavily, he sighed and shook his head.

_There is nothing to be done about it now, Nathaniel. You move on and deal with the consequences._

The dining hall was not a long walk from his room. The looks given to him by those he passed did not go unnoticed. Gossip spread quickly, he'd come to learn over the years. There was always a willing tongue to speak and an eager ear to hear it. _Let them talk_, he thought.

The dining hall was teaming with people, guardsmen, the other wardens and some servants all eager to eat their fill before engaging in their daily duties. Anders, Sigrun and Oghren ate together, much as usual. The trio had their heads down, intently talking to one another about something Nathaniel did not hear, nor did he care to. He suspected their current topic of conversation and thought it best to walk as far away from their table as possible.

He cut a path toward a larger table at the far end of the dining hall. Breads, cheese, fruits and other bits of morning fare were laid out for people to help themselves. Unfortunately, the other wardens did not wish to respect Nathaniel's desire to be left alone or at least one warden in particular did not. Anders rose from the bench and started toward Nathaniel.

Nothing good ever came from Anders when he wore that self-satisfied smirk presently smeared across his face. Nathaniel had come to loathe that expression as it always meant the mage was about to say something inane. Though, really, Anders _always_ had something inane to say. Anders had a way of crawling beneath Nathaniel's skin, so easily annoying him. He knew this fact only encouraged the mage, but was unable to stop the tide of irritation that crept upon his expression whenever forced to deal with the man.

He suspected what the topic of the moment was, what Anders was dying to prattle on about in that pitch-high voice of his and it was something Nathaniel did not wish to hear. As the corner of Anders' mouth quirked impossibly high, Nathaniel knew soon enough he would hear whatever thought tickled the mage's mind. Anders was quite obviously in a sharing sort of mood.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he said, saddling up to Nathaniel's side. From within the satchel carried at his waist, Ser Pounce A Lot poked out his head and mewed in protest. Anders tsked the cat softly, fingers scratching between his feline friend's ears. "Not you, my precious little kitty. I meant some ugly and sour-pussed looking creature of a beast." He paused for a moment, an impossibly bright expression shining even more brilliant. "…oh wait, that creature is already in the dungeon, isn't she, old Nate?"

Grey eyes darted briefly toward Anders before looking ahead and the table a few feet away. "Quite pleased with yourself, aren't you?"

All together too smug, Anders replied, "Always."

Nathaniel scanned the offerings upon the table, hand reaching for an apple. "You aren't going to go away, are you?" Anders hovered, a gnat that simply would shoo no matter how hard Nathaniel might have swatted.

"No." Anders leaned in front of Nathaniel, reaching toward a bunch of grapes to pluck one free from a stem. He plopped it into his awaiting mouth, lips holding their amused tilt. "So… Anything new with you? Anything you might want to share with the class?"

If Ander expected Nathaniel to fuel the gossip, he was to be sorely disappointed. "No."

He needn't have worried. Anders required no fuel to keep the flames of his interest alive. "Well, I have something to share. A little bit of gossip I heard and I thought you might find interesting."

"I don't care for gossip." But he did care for the rye bread he saw. He picked up the loaf and gave Anders an annoyed look, one he hoped would make the man realize the futility of whatever it was he was attempting to do.

The look failed, Anders unflinching in his dedication his _craft_. "Oh you'll like this one. Trust me."

"I'd rather not."

Another grape was chewed upon. Anders turned, pressing his backside against the table and tilting his head thoughtfully in view of Nathaniel. "Seems people are talking, and by people, I mean Justice, of course. Gabby little spirit that one. Can't seem to shut him up. Anyway, by people I mean him and so definitely not me. The Warden Commander, well she didn't seem to sleep in her bed last night."

And there it was. Nathaniel remained quiet, intent on showing no reaction to Anders and his _gossip_.

Anders continued, "Seems last anyone saw her was when she went to visit you."

Steps were taken away from Anders, Nate's gaze steadfast in its regard for the contents before him. Cheese went well with bread.

But as Nathaniel moved, so did Anders. Seemingly not done with the man, Anders followed. "Oh you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

He imagined for a moment dropping the food within his hands and strangling the mage. But somehow, he imagined Anders would find some kind of sick pleasure in such a maneuver on Nathaniel's part. Elizabeth would probably be none too pleased either.

_Elizabeth_…

Would she still be waiting on him? He hoped she would. They did need to talk before the influence of others intruded and made decisions for them. The gossip would not sit well with her and he was unsure she would be as uncaring about the whispers as he.

Ignoring Anders, he took the food he gathered and started walking toward the exit. But, as he strode out of the dining hall and into the hallway just outside, he could have sworn he heard Anders yell, "You should know, she prefers the edam."

He was beginning to understand why templars seemed to enjoy smiting mages.

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For the first night in many, Elizabeth had slept. The nightmares she'd been able to block out by the end of the Blight returned with Alistair's death. The images of his dying and of all she had done that lead up to that point ripped and shredded the threads of her dreams making any type of rest impossible. She saved Ferelden from the darkspawn threat but not without considerable cost to herself.

And yet, in the very arms of a man by all rights she should have hated and did in some respect, she found a comfort she craved and was just starting to believe perhaps she deserved. Guilt and regrets were disregarded as she became lost within the sway of Nathaniel's shadow. All those reasons that pointed to the night before being a mistake were purposefully pushed from her mind until…

_You should wear your hair down more often. I like it._

An innocent compliment was all it took to cause the house built upon a foundation of desperate excuses to crumble beneath its own weight. The happiness she allowed herself to feel was muted by the swell of memories.

She told Nathaniel to go get food for them both, that she would wait for him. She told him what he needed to hear to make him leave. The knowledge of what she had done and what her parents would have thought of it suffocated her. She could not breathe or think, not with him there, looming over her as an ever-present reminder of her sin.

As the click of the door echoed Nathaniel's departure, she sat upright in the bed, knees drawing to her chest and palms rubbing into her eyes. The taste of him lingered upon her lips from his goodbye kiss. Fingers pressed against her mouth thoughtfully. What had she done? What was she doing?

The sheet wrapped about her, she walked across the room to the mirror above a small vanity. Her hands shook as fingertips hesitantly touched the skin of her neck and collarbone. Bruises mottled the flesh, more evidence of her misdoings. The marks she knew how to handle and cover. The consequences to come, however, she was not so certain about.

All the decisions she'd made since joining the wardens had been done so after much consideration. She was not an impulsive woman, she did not have that luxury, not in her position. But she had been so tired of not feeling anything other than emptiness, of drifting through life like a ghost unable to find final release, that the prospect to feel _something_ was too much for her to resist.

Nathaniel understood perhaps better than anyone else the complications of her life. They were bound together by blood, both spilled and consumed. In the blasphemy of their entanglement, there had been something undeniably right. He had made her feel, but feel what and could she trust in those feelings or him?

Elizabeth could not forget his alignment with Esmerelle, though, as much as she might have wished to erase it from her mind. He had made a mistake in judgment, he claimed. _The true character of a man can be judged in his actions, pup, not his words_, her father told her once. What Nathaniel said and what he did, did not reconcile.

She considered avoiding the whole subject all together as she moved about the room, gathering her discarded pieces of clothing. She could pretend the evening was nothing more than one night that came and went as insignificantly as the rise and fall of the moon. But it had happened, and she knew it would not be possible for her to simply ignore.

As much as she was unsure whether she could trust Nathaniel or anything he said at this point, it had been nice to step aside from her duties as commander for a short time. To be merely a woman and not the Hero of Ferelden, the Warden Commander or the Arlessa of Amaranthine had lifted a weight upon her shoulders that had burdened her for far too long.

Looking about the room for a place to sit and wait on Nathaniel and his return, she was forced to shake her head. His room was stripped of most of its furniture like many of the rooms of the Keep when she arrived. Most things associated with the Howe name had been burned or given away. Elizabeth had wished to burn away all evidence that the family ever existed. Of course, that meant there were few places for her to sit now. There was _the _chair or the bed, neither of which appealed to her.

Of course, the sex had been…pleasant.

Tension she'd grown accustomed to within her muscles was gone. She felt good, alive. The truth of the matter was she craved more. But what she wanted and what she did were often not the same thing and had not been for quite some time. Duty and honor were her obligations. Personal gain and pleasure were indulgences she could hardly afford.

She walked toward the window, leaning her body against the sill just as Nathaniel returned, his arms filled with bread, cheese and some fruit.

He paused for a moment within the doorway, a mild look of shock coloring his features. "I had thought perhaps," he started to say before falling silent. He shook his head and walked toward her and the table adjacent to the window. "I grabbed what I could quickly," he said, head motioning to the food. His side pressed against the wall, arms crossing over his chest. "You should know," he hesitated. "There is talk."

_Give the hens something to cluck about... _"I suspected there would be. " She knew as much when she dismissed Oghren and Anders. She did not care then and she did not care now.

They both looked down at the table and the food. Neither made a move to eat nor toward the other. Standing there, each leaning into the wall, they dissolved into silence, allowing the quiet to hang within the air uncomfortably.

Speaking to Nathaniel should not have been so difficult. But if she did even understand what it was she wanted, how could she possibly even begin to discuss it with him? She hated him. She did not trust him. She wanted him. She simply did not know.

It was Nathaniel who finally broached the quiet. He straightened himself from the wall and edged toward her. "Elizabeth…" The contempt and daring that had so often laced his words was gone. "I will make this easy for you." His hands sought out hers, taking them gently in his grasp. "It needn't be anything more than what it was if that is what you want."

Green eyes focused upon his hands, her thumbs rubbing lightly against his. Was that what he wanted, an easy way out? Was it what she wanted? Her gaze uplifted, searching out his. "Nathaniel, is that what you want?"

The door began to rattle, a booming knock originating from the other side. Neither made any motion to answer the door. "I don't know. " He sighed. His chin dipped, gaze drifting to watch the circling caress of her fingers. "No, I do not think that is what I want." He raised her hands to his mouth, a kiss lain upon her knuckles. "I…"

"I know she's in there," Oghren rumbled from outside. "I need to talk to her."

She was going to need to have a very _long _conversation with that dwarf soon about his timing. Slowly, Elizabeth drew her hands back, "I should see what he wants."

The flat of Nathaniel's thumb rubbed against the bridge of his nose as he sighed and nodded at Elizabeth. "Of course."

Annoyance colored her features as she opened the door. Oghren stood there, bits of his breakfast still within his beard. Deep breaths were drawn in and out, the signs of recent exertion. "Just thought you'd want to know, Commander, that a caravan approaches sporting noble colors."

The slender line of a brow arched. He honestly hadn't bothered her for _that. "_People come here all the time, Oghren. What's so important about this one that you had to run up here to tell me?"

Oghren snorted, his hand swiped along the braids of his beard, flicking the crumbs of his morning meal away. "Oh, I don't know, Commander. Considering they're flying Highever's colors, I thought you might want to know right away. Didn't imagine you'd want him to catch you in a…" A bushy brow rose. "...being less than Commander like."

A frown touched the corners of her mouth. She could not blame Oghren for disparaging her, not when she was doing the same to herself. But she did not have time to entertain his disapproval, not with Fergus surprising her with a visit, not with Esmerelle still in the dungeons, and not with Nathaniel still waiting for her in his room.

Fingertips pressed into her temples, the slow pulse of a headache starting to set in. "Prepare things for the arrival of the Teyrn," she ordered, no mention made of Oghren's _other_ comment.

Somewhere, she was certain, the Maker was laughing at her.


	23. Timing

Fergus always seemed to have the best timing.

When they were children, Fergus had a way of showing up right at the right place at the wrong time to stop Elizabeth from getting into more trouble than she could handle.

Elizabeth was six and decided to take one of her father's horses out on her own. She had somehow managed to saddle the horse by the time Fergus arrived and stopped her. "You are going to hurt yourself," he told her as he took the reins and led the horse back to the stables.

Elizabeth was eight and decided to go catch a bear and make her father a rug like the one Nathaniel bragged to her brother about having. She had managed to strap into leather armor two sizes too big, the pauldrons drooping down her shoulders when Fergus found her. She had almost made it through the castle gates, a set of daggers strapped to her back. He stopped her, fingers curling about her arms and told her, "You are going to hurt yourself," and then led her back inside the castle and to Nan.

A heavy sigh was exhaled, her attention drifting from the doorway and the departing Oghren back toward Nathaniel. He leaned against the window, the palms of his hands pressed into the sill, his back to her. Was this another one of those times?

An anxious sensation crawled against her skin, anxiety at what was to come with her brother, what was to come with Nathaniel. Fergus would not understand. She hardly understood herself. Nathaniel was not his father, but she knew that is not what Fergus would see. He would see a wife and child murdered. He would see a chance for revenge he had not been able to exact for himself.

She considered for a moment hiding Nathaniel, sending him away on some mission of _grave_ importance. That was only delaying the inevitable, though. Eventually the men were bound to cross paths. She could not send Nathaniel away every time Fergus came to visit. Or could she?

No, she could not. She did not know if there was a future with Nathaniel, anything beyond their one evening together. Her own feelings on the subject were still unclear. His question to her still lingered in her mind. What did she want? Nothing more than it was or the start of something greater? If there was to be anything at all, she could not keep it from Fergus. He was the only family she had left.

Elizabeth was not sure how long she stood in the doorway, lost in her thoughts as she stared at Nathaniel's back. He lured her back to the present, breaking the silence that pervaded after Oghren's departure. "What do you plan to tell him?"

The honest answer was she had no idea. "What he needs to know…" She was vague and knew it. Teeth gnawed at her lower lip, her head shaking lightly. "The truth, I suppose." Whatever that was.

Something uncertain ghosted across his features, present within the slight narrowing of his eyes and the straight lined press of his lips. Disbelief? Concern? Whatever he was feeling, he left unspoken and nodded simply. "You should go greet him."

"Maybe you should…" _not come down_. Old masks were slipped into, comfort found within the professional. She became the Commander. "…get dressed in your armor. I will have the wardens presentable for the Teyrn."

"Of course…." He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching. "…Commander."

This was not how she had seen the morning, but if she was honest with herself, none of this had been what she expected.

Fergus and a contingent of the Highever guard awaited her in the main hall of the Keep. A belly full of raucous laughter burst from Fergus' mouth as he conversed with Oghren. She had almost forgotten those two had spent time together in Anora's army before Oghren came to the Vigil to join the Wardens.

"Well if it isn't my baby sister!" A huge smile bloomed upon Fergus' mouth as he started to walk toward his sister, arms extended.

The pair embraced, each squeezing the other a hair too tight. The need to feel the other, to know they were still alive and not gone was a new facet of their relationship since their reunion. Elizabeth released her hold upon Fergus and took a step back. Arms crossed over her chest, a touch of displeasure creeping upon her features. "Fergus…. To what do I owe this visit?"

Arms shot up in the air in an exaggerated manner. "A brother can't visit his sister?"

"I…." There was denying she was happy to see him. She was. Any other time, any other morning, though, would have been better. "…of course not, I mean yes he can. But to what do I owe I _this_ surprise?"

He hooked an arm about one of hers, forcing her crossed arm hug about her chest to unfurl. "Would you believe me if I said I missed you?" Her brow arched at the question, fingertips moving to squeeze at his arm. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." His joking demeanor was set aside, a more serious mien worn. "I had heard rumors of noble unrest in the region and thought I would-"

She frowned, interrupting Fergus, "-come to the rescue?"

"Well, I _am_ Teyrn _and_ your big brother. It's my right to swoop in to the rescue if I want."

A bittersweet tilt overtook her lips. _Swooping is bad_, she thought, a memory for another time seemingly so long ago tickling her thoughts. She imagined Alistair would have found humor in the situation. "The matter is already under control, _Teyrn Fergus_."

A sigh creased Fergus' frown curved mouth. "Elizabeth…"

He had been insistent when appointed Teyrn that Elizabeth never call him that. Like their father, Fergus was a more casual type of noble, wishing to be seen as a man first and a noble second. He took great pride in his duty, great care in the honor bestowed upon him within the privilege of title. He was their Lord in name, but he would not _lord_ over his vassals.

She shook her head, not wishing to fight with him, not over this, not with what she was sure was to come. "Fine… Fergus…"

He began to lead her around the main hall. She could not remember the last time Fergus had been to the Keep. This was his first visit since her appointment as Arlessa. "Under control? How," he asked.

"Bann Esmerelle and others tried to kill me in the name of…" She found herself unable to voice Rendon Howe's name in the presence of Fergus as if the vocal recognition of the man would bring back a flood of memories best repressed. She had been thankful Fergus was not present to see what those men had done to Oren and Oriana. The image of their bodies, twisted and bloodied upon the floor of their bedroom, was one she would carry for the rest of her life. She did wish such a fate upon her brother. It was better he did not know, that he could remember them as they were and not as how they died. "… They sought revenge and were not happy with some of my decisions, I imagine."

His tone quieted, sadness darkening his gaze. "I see."

"She is in the dungeon awaiting my judgment."

"Do you think she knew about…" His voice trailed off, not hard for her to understand where his thoughts had drifted.

"I am not sure. But I had thought to ask her. To be honest, Fergus, I don't expect her to admit it if she was. She…" There was the gift, a possibly condemning piece of evidence, much as the ring that hung from a necklace about her neck. "…had an item of mother's jewelry that she gave to me. Said she found it in Amaranthine but I suspect it was given to her as a gift."

"Yes, she was involved with that…" Teeth bit down, his jaw tensing. "…_bastard." Fergus_ led them toward a corner of the room, near the picture of Nathaniel's mother. He remained silent for a moment, tension riding across the line of his shoulders. "I wish to be there when you speak to her."

"Of course."

His gaze drifted toward the picture. "Why did you keep _that_? I would have destroyed all things touched by those traitorous…" Words fell short, the path of Fergus' stare focused upon Nathaniel as he entered the room. "…Howes."

Fergus and Nathaniel had been rivals as boys and teenagers, Elizabeth never quite sure if they hated one another or were the best of friends. There was no doubt in her mind at this moment, however, what her brother felt for Nathaniel. Anger sparked bright within his eyes. She moved to block his view of Nathaniel, both of her hands pressing lightly against Fergus' shoulders. She tried to offer an explanation, "Fergus… You should know that he is a Grey Warden, like me."

But, it was not enough. "No, not like you." Fergus reached behind his back and unlatched his sword. He pushed past his sister, his weapon raised and pointed toward Nathaniel.

"Fergus." Nate stood his ground, not flinching or moving away from the approaching Fergus. Elizabeth found herself both relieved and worried at the same time. "Long time."

Venom laced Fergus' tone. "Not long enough."

She walked toward the men, taking a spot at her brother's side. "Fergus…" Her hand settled against his arm, pushing down lightly to try to force his sword arm down. He did not relent. "I'll say it again. He's a Grey Warden now." There had been a time when she wished to kill Nate, but she had not, letting the Joining decide his fate instead. She could not blame her brother for wishing the same thing, for wishing to spill more blood of the family that spilled so much of their own. "Let's go talk somewhere private."

The tip of the sword pressed against Nathaniel's neck and still, he did not edge away from Fergus, something almost challenging in the way in which Nathaniel regarded the eldest Cousland. Reluctantly, however, Fergus pulled his sword away and offered it to a guard, then saying to the knight. "Do not let this one out of your sight. I will be back." His last comment seemingly reserved just for Nathaniel.

Elizabeth wasted no time in leading Fergus away from Nathaniel and to a small private room just off the main hall. The moment the door shut behind them, he turned to face his sister. A mélange of expressions floated upon his features: anger, disappointment, sadness, confusion, betrayal. "Explain to me _why_ that _man_ is here and not _dead_?"

Allowing Nathaniel to live had been the right decision to make at the time. After what happened with Alistair, she could not allow something like that to happen again, not if she could do anything to stop it. But these were not things she could tell Fergus. As much as she loved and trusted her brother, as much as she wanted to tell him everything, there were some aspects of her life she could not share with him and Grey Warden secrets fell squarely in that category.

She motioned for Fergus to take a seat in one of the wooden chairs in the room. He shook his head and elected to remain standing, disconsolate eyes turning from their regard of her as if looking at Elizabeth was too painful, too difficult.

Lips pressed together pensive, a heavy sigh exhaled and she began to tell Nathaniel's story, what she could of it.

She spoke of his conscription and forcing him into the service of the wardens, in service to the Couslands and her.

She spoke of distrust, anger and hatred that faded into the horizon of the eventuality as Nathaniel reunited with Deliah.

She spoke of his final recognition of his father's guilt and the acceptance of his father's death as deserved and merited.

She did not speak of their father's ring.

She did not speak of Esmerelle and Nathainel's alliance.

She did not speak of how even now, speaking to her brother, the heat of Nathaniel's touch whispered against her skin making her long for its feel once again.

When she finished speaking, they remained there quietly, neither saying anything for quite some time. Elizabeth recognized that it was a lot for her brother to absorb. In hindsight, she should have written him, told him that Nathaniel was alive and working with her as a Grey Warden. But she had not thought about Fergus at the time. She had not been able to. The weight of _too much _and _too many_ loomed over her, an ever-constant flow of responsibilities and duty giving her no rest, no time for consideration of her brother's feelings.

"Fergus…," she said, finally breaking the quiet between them. She felt so small in his presence. Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, these titles meant nothing as she sat there within the shadow of her big brother, within the shadow of his disappointment. She was not sorry, however, for what she had done. If presented with the same opportunity again, she knew she would take it. "… there are many things I regret." She straightened her posture, sitting as upright as possible in her seat. "Nathaniel is not one of them. He's proven a loyal warden. I am not sorry for my decision to let him live."

He turned to face her once again, something shifting within his gaze, something softening. His hand cupped against her neck. "I know you aren't—" The press of a fingertip brushed against a bruised slope of skin. "There is something you are not telling me," he said flatly, his gaze narrowing upon the marks upon her neck. "How long have you…"

She closed her eyes, head inclining away from him. In her rush to greet Fergus, she had not stopped by her room and changed her clothes as she knew she should have. Had this been an oversight on her part or had part of her wanted him to see, wanted him to know? It was easier this way, him figuring things out on his own rather than her needing to find the words to say what she knew she must. And still, she tried to hide behind a lie. "Fergus, it's not what you think."

"And what is that? What do you think I think? I can see the damn marks on your neck, Elizabeth."

A fool's masquerade. She abandoned her lie as quickly as she clung to it. "It just happened if you insist on knowing." A rueful smile bit across her lips. "You have the best timing, as always Fergus. Your visit could not have been timed better."

He shook his head, hands rubbing against the top of his head, ruffling his hair. "Then it's not too soon to end it."

The words that came next flowed without thought and surprised her as she spoke them. "What if I don't want to?" Against her better judgment, against everything she knew was right, wrong, stupid and smart, she felt a pull towards Nathaniel. It was something more than a little girl crush grown into the reality of adulthood.

Fergus looked at her pointedly and she felt six again. His frown deepened and she felt eight once more. "You are going to get yourself hurt."

.

.

.

.

.

.

Fergus always had the worst timing.

Nathaniel's stomach twisted into knots when he heard Oghren inform Elizabeth of Fergus' impending arrival. He supposed sooner or later, Fergus and he were bound to see each other again. Ferelden was not _that_ big and Elizabeth was his commander, after all. The timing, as usual for Fergus, could not have been worse, though.

When they were both thirteen, the Couslands had come to visit the Keep and both Nathaniel and Fergus had their sights set upon the young daughter of a merchant that frequented the Keep. Nathaniel had been chatting to the girl for some time and finally decided to make a show of interest in her. Unfortunately, Fergus had been faster. When Nathaniel, flowers in hand, went to speak to the girl, Fergus was already with her, their hands interlocked, a giggle-kissed blush coloring her cheeks.

When they were both fifteen, the Howes had gone to visit the Couslands. Nathaniel enjoyed hunting within the forests of Highever. He stalked his prey carefully, a magnificent buck, its rack of horns like no other that he had seen before. He was sure his father would be proud of such a prized kill. As Nathaniel nocked his arrow and aimed carefully, Fergus launched out of a tree some fifteen yards away, scaring the deer away.

Whenever afforded an opportunity to ruin something for Nathaniel, Fergus was there. And now, he had come to the Keep to visit his sister. Cousland was an insufferable bastard.

Nathaniel pressed his forehead against window after Elizabeth left. The courtyard below was already filled with soldiers wearing the tabards of Highever. He contemplated for the briefest of moments hiding in his room. Elizabeth would surely have understood. But no, he did not think that she would and he was no coward.

He took his time slipping into his armor. Dust from the road still clung to the pieces that had been so urgently tossed upon the floor the night before. He dampened a small rag, using the moisture to slick away some of the dirt, just enough to make him mildly presentable. He would not run from Fergus Cousland neither would he put on a show for the man.

He was no fool as to believe their meeting again after all these years would be amicable. Nathaniel's father was responsible for the murder of Fergus' wife and child. There was no forgetting or forgiving such acts. They left a person forever wounded in a way that would never heal fully, not even with time. But his father's actions were not his own. Nathaniel did not condone them. He certainly could not understand them. Somehow, though, knowing Fergus as he did, Nathaniel did not think Fergus would see it that way. And he had to admit, that if roles were reversed, he was not entirely sure he would either.

Nathaniel understood more than Fergus would be able to recognize what it felt like to feel as if he did, to not do his job as a man and fail to protect his family. Both had been sent away. Both had failed to save those they loved from a grisly fate. Of course, somewhat ruefully Nathaniel had to confess to himself their situations were not quite that similar. There was a difference between the murder of a traitor and the genocide of an entire family. It did not change the shame that lingered though, the ever-present knowledge of failure lingering just overhead in reminder.

His grandfather's bow strapped to his back, Nathaniel made his way down to the main hall, ready as he ever would be to face Fergus' wrath. And when that anger was thrust in his face by the tip of a sword, Nathaniel did not shirk away. He was sorry for what happened, more so than he thought Fergus would ever believe. But he would not beg the man for mercy over an action he had not committed. He would not beg for forgiveness where there was none to give.

Guardsmen neared Nathaniel at Fergus' orders as the Teyrn and Elizabeth left the room to speak privately. What did Fergus think Nathaniel was going to do? Run away? If he had wanted to do that, he would have done so already. He shook his head at the display and walked over toward the corner in which his mother's painting hung. It seemed a good place as any to spend his time as he waited on _permission_ to leave.

A gruff voice rumbled behind him, "Got some stones on you, kid. I'll give you that."

_Oghren._

He had enough of his fellow Wardens earlier in the day after his exchange with Anders. He did not desire a repeat performance, especially with the dwarf. The corners of his mouth tugged in annoyance as he turned to regard Oghren. "Excuse me?"

"I would have pegged you as the hiding type. It's what your father would have done."

Nathaniel's head inclined to the side, eyes narrowing upon the dwarf. "That is _not_ one of my _daddy issues_ as you like to say, Oghren. I am no coward."

Oghren's fingers kneaded against the back of his neck. "Yeah, guess I haven't seen you run from a fight yet," he conceded. Shoulders rolled back, a hand moving to reach for the flask always kept at his side. "So, don't think I need to tell you this, but I'm going to anyway…." Oghren paused just long enough to take a hit of whatever was his flavor of the day. By the smell, Nathaniel guessed it was some kind of ale, some kind he would prefer to never sample for himself. "…you hurt her, I'll kill you."

"I have no such intentions."

"Intentions aren't sodding actions. She's stuck by my side more than I deserve. I owe her a lot. Ancestors know, she's been through hell and back and I'm not going to let it happen again to her, not under my watch."

Nathaniel shook his head at the gallant display. "And would that be while you are sober or drunk?" He flicked a finger in gesture to the hip flask.

A slow smile crept upon Oghren's mouth. His drink held up in mock toast to Nathaniel. "Drunk, of course. My aim might be a bit sloppier but I certainly hit a lot harder."

"So I have seen." Nathaniel never quite understood how the dwarf was able to perform in combat while under the influence. But not once had Oghren failed them due to his drunkenness. He could grant the man that much.

Grey eyes returned their focus upon the picture of his mother. His parents had never been happy. They put on quite a show in public, but privately, it was a far different story. His father's coolness was not only reserved for his children. Nathaniel was quite certain his mother was married for her money and beauty and nothing more. She was a trophy that Rendon put out on display now and again to help puff up his own sense of self-importance. Had there ever been any affection between them? He had to believe there had not.

There has been affection between Elizabeth and her bastard prince if rumor was to be believed. Nathaniel knew very little about the man save what the whispered gossip revealed. Oghren knew the man, perhaps he might…

A glance over the shoulder revealed Elizabeth and Fergus had yet to return. "I… Oghren, could you tell me about Alistair?"

"The pike twirler?" Oghren's gaze honed in upon Nathaniel, seeming to scrutinize him for a moment before he continued, "I suppose there is no harm in telling you about him." The dwarf moved toward the wall and took a position against it, one leg propped up, knee bent. "He was a real good sort. Couldn't hold his ale or grow a decent beard." Fingers stroked at his chin braids, a hint of pride blossoming upon ale soaked lips. "But he was still like family to me. And he loved her. S'why I suspect he took that final blow."

All good humor faded away, a darkness drifting into Oghren's expression, regret cornering his eyes. "Wish they'd had told us about that. I'd have asked for the Joining sooner and taken that last blow myself to save them both."

It said something of a person to demand such loyalty and compassion in another individual. An image of a someone more deserving than himself was painted in his mind. Alistair sounded like a good man. Contrary to what Elizabeth claimed, Nathaniel was still not sure that he was good. The specter of his father continued to shadow him, his name forever tainted by the actions of the dead.

"You don't like me very much, do you, Oghren?"

The dwarf let out an amused snort. "Would you like you if you were me?"

"I suppose I would not," Nathaniel conceded.

"Just be happy what happened to you yesterday wasn't up to me. I would have put you down in the dungeon with old lemon face. But the Commander, she sees something there that…" Oghren shuddered uncomfortably. "Ya know, I don't want to know what the Commander sees _there. _Point is, she gave you another chance for some reason and don't you go sodding messing it up."

The doors to the hall burst open, Fergus striding back into the room, a commanding air surrounding him. Eyes interlocked with Nathaniel's as Fergus cut a path cut toward him. "You and me, we are going to talk now," Fergus ordered, leaving no room for debate on the subject.

_Talk or fight,_ Nathaniel had to wonder.


	24. Reunions

Nathaniel and Fergus walked quietly down the hallway to a room just off the main hall. Nathaniel was thankful for both the silence and the private location for their impending _words_.

The tragedies of the past were screaming into their present and anger suffused Fergus' movements. Tension rode high upon his shoulders and a sneer twisted the shape of his mouth as he seemed to purposefully avoid looking in Nathaniel's direction. Rivals as children, enemies as men, this appeared to be their current path and he did not wish it made a spectacle for all to witness and gossip about.

He considered, for a moment, apologizing to Fergus as soon as they were alone. To tell him how sorry he was for what happened to his family, how he wished that he could go back in time and change everything. Yet he knew such apologies would fall upon unhearing ears. An apology was the last thing Fergus wanted from Nathaniel.

As they neared the doorway, Fergus turned to the men that shadowed them during their short journey. "Stay just outside the door. I will not be needing you inside." A frown curved one of the guard's mouths, but he protested no further and simply nodded in understanding.

Nathaniel entered first, the significance of the place selected not completely lost to him. The two had spent many an hour within the confines of this particular room whenever Fergus and his family visited the Keep. They drank stolen ale, played cards together and spoke of their life's plans.

Fergus never knew, however, it was a room of Rendon Howe's selection. A small peep hole hidden within the ornamentation of a candle sconce on the north wall allowed any behind the wall to spy on those inside the room.

Lost within his thoughts, Nathaniel had little time to prepare for what came next. Red colored his vision and pain shot sharp and sudden along the line of his jaw. Fergus actually punched him! He took a knee, stunned by the shock of the strike. He thought fists might come into play at some point during their conversation, but he simply had not expected it would be so soon and with no notice. The bitter taste of copper tickled against his tongue, the inside of his cheek bitten from the punch. His hand swiped against his mouth, fingers rubbing at his jaw. "Did that help?"

Fergus flicked his hand, shaking off his heavy red steel gauntlet, letting it fall to the ground with a loud clank. His head shook, anger curling the edges of his mouth and infusing his tone, "No, but I'm not done yet."

Nathaniel pulled himself to stand once more, hand rubbing against his jaw, Heat already spreading across his skin. That punch would certainly leave its mark. "Just not the nose next time," Nathaniel offered somewhat ruefully. "It's already distinct enough."

"You arrogant son of a bitch…" Fergus' fingers flexed before curling back into a fist. Tension continued to tighten his every movement. Teeth bit down, his jaw clenching as he managed to spit out, "Just like your father."

A snort edged Nathaniel's mouth. "No, not like him." Rendon would have retaliated immediately with a knife to the gut and then pleaded self-defense, using the burgeoning bruise upon his face as evidence to support his claim. That was not Nathaniel.

A finger jutted out, pointing at Nathaniel in an accusatory manner. Fergus snarled, "No? Did you not come here to kill my sister? To continue your father's goal to exterminate the whole of _my_ family?"

"I did." He could not lie to Fergus. Nathaniel's actions at the time were motivated by lies. And when the truth finally came to light… "Things have since changed."

"So I hear." A gruff sounding snort punctuated Fergus' statement. "I would have killed you."

A sardonic angling overtook Nathaniel's mouth as he said, "That seems to be the popular opinion."

"I might still."

"You are welcome to try." Defiance colored his expression. If Fergus thought to intimidate Nathaniel, he would find himself sorely disappointed. Fergus' anger was justified. He'd suffered an unimaginable loss, but Nathaniel would not beg his old friend's forgiveness for actions that were not his own. He would listen to Fergus' angered words, he would even allow the man to hit him again if he needed to. Nathaniel would not, however, humble himself. His pride would not allow it.

Fergus' hand reached back for the pommel of his sword but paused just shy of unsheathing his weapon. With the shake of the head, he turned around and looked toward the window on the east wall. "Elizabeth tells me you did not know of your father's plans."  
"I knew only what he told me."

"And that was?" Some of the anger within the Teyrn's expression diffused, he turned around once more, brown eyes searching out Nathaniel's grey.

A frown curved Nathaniel's mouth. "Not the truth." If he had known the truth, he wanted to believe nothing would have stopped him from coming back to Ferelden. Nothing would have stopped him from trying to make his father see the insanity and wrongness of his plots. The truth was, though, Nathaniel was not sure if he would have come back. So wrapped up in wanting to please that man, he did not know if he could have found it in himself to so brazenly betray Rendon.

A grim bit of laughter grew in the back of Fergus' throat. "Hardly surprising I suppose. Seems nothing but lies come from a Howe's mouth."

"So you say."

"So I _know_."

The throbbing in Nathaniel's jaw began to slow. His hand rose, massaging at his chin. "Elizabeth doesn't seem to hold that opinion."

Gruffly, Fergus snorted and shook his head at Nathaniel. "She doesn't always know what is best for her."

Nathaniel's arms crossed about his chest, his eyebrow peaked curiously. "And I suppose you do?"

Without hesitation, Fergus said, "Yes."

A derisive snort preceded, "Pardon me, Fergus, if I disagree." Elizabeth was no longer the girl he'd known all those years ago. One thing had not changed, though. She was not the type of woman that liked others deciding what was best for her. All Couslands had that trait: stubborn to the bone.

The anger returned. Baleful eyes narrowed upon Nathaniel, Fergus snapping, "It's _Teyrn._" His hands edged upward, scrubbing against the top of his head. With a long sigh, he seemed to calm once more; the fight gone from his voice. "How long have Elizabeth and you…" Fergus' words trailed off, but the meaning was understood all the same.

Nathaniel leaned back, leaning against the wall behind him. His foot propped up, knee bent. "Ask her." This was not his discussion to have with Fergus.

A frown curved the line of Fergus' mouth. The answer was not to his liking. "I did."

Faintly, Nathaniel managed a shrug. "Then you have your answer."

With a snort, Fergus said, "You were and still are an insufferable shit, Nathaniel."

"I will take that as a compliment." A single corner of Nathaniel's mouth quirked upward.

For the first time since seeing Nathaniel, Fergus cracked a smirk. "You would." The wry expression was short-lived, however, and soon faded within the shadow of darkening features. Pacing, he glanced over his shoulder, searching out Nathaniel, "I need a drink. Do you think..."

The men shared many moments together in this room as boys. When both were twelve, Fergus dared Nathaniel that he could not steal a bottle of whiskey from the cellar. Not one to let a Cousland get the better of him, Nathaniel accepted the challenge. Twice he was almost caught by the guard, but he succeeded in his task. Both got drunk that night in this very room and hid the unfinished bottle in a small cubby behind a loose brick in the wall. Could that bottle still be there after all these years?

"You could look," Nathaniel replied.

Fergus seemed to hesitate a moment, almost as if he was not sure if he should turn his back to Nathaniel or not. The moment was fleeting, however, and Fergus took a knee in the west corner of the room. Fingertips nudged the stone back; bits of mortar flaked upon the ground as the stone was removed. He reached into the small hole and when his hand reappeared, it had in its possession a dust-covered bottle. Uncorking the whiskey, he took a sip and immediately spat the liquor out. "Tastes like it's been sitting in a wall for years."

Nathaniel's brows rose. His tone dry, he replied, "Perhaps because it has?"

Fergus gave Nathaniel a hard stare for a moment before raising the bottle to his lips once again. This time he managed to swallow down the whiskey rather than spit it out. "I can't allow this, you know that right?" Fergus extended a hand, offering the bottle to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel edged away from the wall and walked toward Fergus. There were many reasons Nathaniel and Elizabeth should not be together none of which involved her brother's approval. He reached forward, taking the bottle from Fergus. "I hardly think it is your decision to make."

  


* * *

  


Elizabeth loved her brother.

Sometimes, however, she really did hate him. While his intentions were always good and he only wished what he thought best for her, she did not need or want his protection. The little girl that wanted to hunt bear or ride her own horse no longer existed. In her place, stood the Warden Commander of Ferelden.

Too many men had made decisions for her in the past under the pretense of what was in her best interest. Her father allowed Duncan to conscript her. Alistair took the final blow. And now, Fergus wished to solve what he dubbed her Howe problem.

Nathaniel was many things; some of which she could not quite put to words. He was not, however, a problem, at least not in the way Fergus implied. But even if he did cause her trouble in the future, it was not for Fergus to decide for her what to do. How could she expect those in her command to follow her orders if her own brother would not even allow her to make decisions in her personal life?

Couslands were always a stubborn bunch and on this subject she was immovable.

Fergus' displeasure came in the form of a sharp frown and a demand to speak to Nathaniel. At first, she protested to the idea of the two men speaking. While they had been friends at one time, much had changed since then.

She could not deny, though, that a conversation was warranted. After speaking to Nathaniel, there was no way that Fergus could hold him responsible for what happened at Castle Cousland. Her brother was angry and hurt, but he was not unfair.

_Let the two of them be locked together in a room and work this out_, she thought.

After Fergus and she parted ways, Elizabeth decided to go back to her room. She'd had enough of people and wanted nothing more than to disappear into her room and decompress. She needed to think, to sort out just what she wanted to do about Nathaniel.

Unfortunately, the alone time she sought was not to occur. Upon opening the door to her room, she found a familiar friend lying languidly atop her bed. Slender fingers tucked behind his head, an all too smug yet enchantingly charming grin playing light against his lips, Zevran stretched atop the covers. Really, with all the other surprises Elizabeth received over the last two days, she should have seen this one coming.

The door shut behind her and she walked toward the bed and the sprawled out Antivan. "Zevran, what are you doing…" Her hand waved toward the bed and the room in general. "...here?"

His hands untwined from behind his head, arms moving to his sides so that the tips of his fingers could press into the bed as if testing the firmness of the mattress. A small grin hooked his mouth, "I heard you were sleeping with men that tried to kill you and I thought I might come to collect on the debt you owe me."

_Was there no one not talking about that?_ She, of course, knew the answer. No, there was not. Gossip traveled like wildfire within a castle. That still did not answer her question, however. All kidding aside, Zevran had a different purpose for his visit; that much was evident.

She sat down upon foot of the bed, one leg bending to rest flat atop the mattress. She did not answer his question and instead posed one of her own, "Why are you really here, Zevran?"

"Business first, yes? And then pleasure?" Zev edged himself to a more upright position to sit atop the bed; his back pressed against the headboard. "I came to warn you of an assassination attempt. However, I have heard that is old news."

So much happened after the attack, Elizabeth never took the time to sit and consider the others Esmerelle brought with her to help with the coup. Crows. She should have recognized them instantly but was too busy thinking of Nathaniel's possible betrayal to pay attention to the dead upon the floor.

Her head shook, "So much for Ignacio's promise the Crows would leave me be, eh?"

"It was he that contacted me." Her eyes widened slightly at the news causing Zevran to chuckle softly. "Oh I was equally surprised. He was contacted first and refused the contract but apparently your friends persuasive enough to convince a different cell."

Concern peppered her expression. She did not need to add Antivan Crows to her list of worries. Talking darkspawn and rebelling nobles already left her list quite long. "Will there be more attacks?"

"No, I do not believe so. You have proven yourself quite difficult to kill…" Teeth flashed white; a brilliant smile curving his mouth. "…yet again. While the Crows do like their gold, they do not like failure."

He had come to warn her, to help save her life when all she had shown him the last time they were together was contempt and cruelty. He tried to be a comfort to her when she was willing to accept none from anyone. The pain of Alistair's passing, the guilt that overwhelmed her were both still too fresh, too raw. As a result, things were said, cruel things that she regretted.

Her chin dipped, eyes cast down to peer at the bed. Nervous fingers fiddled with the coverlet, tugging at a loose thread. "Zevran, those things I said to you-"

His hand rose, stopping her mid-sentence, "Elizabeth, you do not need to apologize."

"I do." Of all her companions, Zevran was the most likely to understand her torment after Alistair's passing. He'd told her about Rinna and instead of realizing Zevran's offered comfort came from a place of understanding, she threw the murder of his lover in his face. "I should not have said what I did. I was hurting and…" She reached forward, her hand settling upon his ankle. "…I am sorry."

Zevran was a master at disguising his emotions. _If you pretend nothing can harm you, nothing will_, he told her once. Yet in the moment, in the wake of her apology, his usually waggish manner softened faintly and she could see, though he said he did not need to hear her say she was sorry, he was grateful for it all the same.

The lapse in expression did not hold, however, and as quickly as Zevran drifted into the realm of the serious, he floated effortlessly back toward the cavalier. "Very well, might I comfort myself on your bosom? It will help me recover all the more quickly."

It felt good to smile. With a friendly squeeze, she held onto his ankle briefly and then let go. "No, you may not."


	25. Bannished

Nathaniel had avoided the dungeons after Elizabeth conscripted him. Be it cowardice or fear, he had not wished to tempt the fates and return to a place filled with memories of a different man. How wrong he had been about so many things.

He would avoid them no further. Esmerelle's execution was scheduled for later in the afternoon and a compulsion drew him towards her. He needed to see the woman one last time before her death.

Two guards watched over the convicted; Nathaniel sent both of them away. As much as Esmerelle seemed to enjoy a good audience, Nathaniel did not. He was a private man.

Arms crossed over his chest, he stood before her cell; the same one he had occupied during his time in the dungeons. Her armor had been stripped off. Rather than the noble finery he remembered her favoring, she wore a simple brown shirt and pants. Her hair was down and still wet from the bath she'd been allowed earlier in the day - a final wish.

Esmerelle rose from the ground where she had been sitting. "I had wondered when you might come see me. You just missed Fergus." Her mouth curved into a bemused and unapologetic smile. "Teyrn Fergus as he was sure to correct me."

To have been a fly on the wall during that exchange. If the conversation had bothered Esmerelle at all, she showed no signs. She was a prideful woman, always had been. That pride had been one of the reasons Rendon was so drawn to her. Like drew like.

Quiet fell between the pair. There were many things Nathaniel wished to say, questions he wished to ask, but no words found their way to his tongue.

"I must say that I am surprised not to see you here with me. I'm rather impressed with the influence you have over Elizabeth."

"Arlessa Elizabeth," he corrected, taking a page from Fergus' book.

"How silly of me to have forgotten." Without skipping a beat, she steered the conversation in a different direction, "And to think Thomas was the one Rendon planned for her. If he had known…"

Why had he come here? What had he honestly hoped to accomplish by paying this woman a visit? There was nothing she could say that would interest him. Not anymore. Those questions he had to ask, would not receive honest answers. Only lies awaited him if he was to remain. With little ceremony, Nathaniel turned, placing his back to Esmerelle and began to make his retreat.

Mild surprise slanted her tone, "Leaving? So soon?"

Back still turned, but exit halted briefly, Nathaniel responded, "There is nothing really more to say."

"Oh but there is. The Arlessa will have confiscated my properties for the Arling, or will soon. When she does so, go to my home. There is something I wish you to have."

Nathaniel's lips pressed together, irritated. He faced her once again, letting the anger color his expression and twist his voice, "I want nothing of yours."

Too pleased, a cat having caught a mouse, her smile broadened. "It is not mine but your father's."

A snap of a response, Nathaniel said, "I want nothing of his."

"You will want this." Esmerelle paused briefly, continuing only after Nathaniel did not move to hasten his exit. "In my office, you will find a button beneath the left hand drawer. It will open a compartment in the drawer beneath. In that compartment, you will find the item of which I speak of. Things are not often as black and white as they appear, Nathaniel. You would do well to remember that." Amusement faded. A vulnerability shadowed Esmerelle's face, one Nathaniel had not seen before. The woman was as manipulative as his father, but she had been unwavering in her feelings for Rendon. "You will find far more greys in the world."

Tooth pressed down on tooth, the line of Nathaniel's jaw tensing. Even in the face of death, she sought to push him back on a course of his father's making. "And today one of those Greys will put you to death." He had no more words for the woman.

 

* * *

 

Esmerelle stood proudly upon the gallows, but Elizabeth had not really expected any differently from the woman. Even when the noose went about her neck and the certainty of her death brushed against her skin, Esmerelle did not balk. She stood upon a dais of no regrets with the confidence that she had been right in her decisions.

Elizabeth would never be so lucky; regrets and second guesses scarred her very being.

She walked next to one of those unsure decisions after the execution, a side glance catching Nathaniel in profile. Their talk never completed, her feelings about him continued to remain muddied and unclear. Children carried parts of their parents with them always, some more obvious than others. Nathaniel favored Rendon. A father's face but not his manner, she reminded herself. He brought her back into the living with his presence but made it impossible for her to forget all the deaths that numbed her to begin with. There would always be darkness about him; a cloud of remembrance no sun could burn away.

It did little to silence her worries nor did her brother's presence.

Fergus walked to her right. While Nathaniel's expression was one of immovable stone, set and stoic, Fergus' was the opposite. Anger and sadness deepened the wrinkles upon his brow and around his mouth. He had not been present when Rendon died. Esmerelle was as close as he came to any type of closure for the deaths of a loving wife and child.

It was Fergus' hand that Elizabeth sought with her own, a comforting squeeze offered. Her losses had been extreme; Fergus' even more so. She could at least take comfort though Alistair died stupidly, he died honorably. Fergus benefited from no such relief. Oriana and Oren's lives were cut short through no action of their own. Their names were enough to condemn them to an unspeakable death.

Elizabeth knew there was little to be done for her; demons would follow her until her death. Fergus, however… He would never forget, but he would mend his wounds with time. Fergus always had a talent for that. Elizabeth would do whatever was necessary to speed along his recovery.

"I was thinking a small dinner tonight, Fergus," Elizabeth began, breaking the quiet.

Her words drew her brother from unhappy thoughts, a strained smile finding his lips. "Yes." He leaned forward just enough to catch Nathaniel's attention. "He can pour the wine."

A playful jab and not ill received. Nathaniel smirked.

Nathaniel, Elizabeth and Fergus dined together for the first time in a very long while that evening. They laughed at the happy past and mused of the hopeful present. The unhappy past remained unmentioned and the somber mood that greeted their initial reunion left beyond the threshold of the private dining room. Be it purposeful evasion or lost within the throes of a happy evening. Elizabeth laughed more that night than she could remember having done so thanks to the two men that shared the table with her - a brother she loved dearly and a man she might grow to.

Muddied waters became far more clear.


	26. Promises

Drunk on much wine and laughter, the pair had left Fergus and ended their night in her bed. Sunlight crept through the windows, dust motes sparkling within the early morning light. A light thrum pounded at Elizabeth's temple and thirst dried her tongue. Regardless of the pain of her hangover, she had not felt this good in quite a while.

Elizabeth liked the feeling of waking up in someone's arms. The feeling was one she missed. There were some mornings, when she shared her tent with Alistair, she delayed their breaking camp just a little while so that she might lie there and soak in the heat of his body behind hers. "You just love me for my body," he'd joke in that self deprecating way he tended to kid. Her response was always the same; she showed him just _how_ much she loved his body before they were forced to leave the solitude of their tent. For some time, she believed she would never feel that comfort again. Alistair was gone and a life beyond his passing was impossible to fathom. Funny how things changed in the most unexpected ways. The man who now shared her bed would not have been someone of her choosing, but she would have had no other there with her, not in that moment.

She drew Nathaniel's hand to her mouth, the lightest of kisses lain upon battle-scarred knuckles. He shifted against her and pulled her closer against him. Heat upon heat, his breath brushed against her ear at a softly spoken, "Morning," followed by a groaned, "I drank too much."

"We all did," Elizabeth agreed, but she had no regrets.

She switched sides, lying chest to chest with Nathaniel. "How do we do this," she asked. No more evading their talk; her mind was made up the night before. This thing with Nathaniel was something she wished to try. She would no longer fight against the push of the inevitable. For now, he was what she needed and more importantly, he was what she wanted. She craved his presence, his touch, the sounds that he made when he was inside her.

"We've done this four times already," he quipped, a corner of his mouth tugging in a faint grin before a more neutral expression took hold. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, brushing it from her brow. "Day by day I think is best."

The life of a warden was complicated; to have thought otherwise had been naive. Alistair and she were to conquer the world - first as wardens, next as King and Queen of Ferelden. That bubble burst along the rooftops of Fort Drakon. That was the day she truly grew up, not the day her parents died and she was conscripted. The day of her parents death she learned she must do whatever was necessary to survive. The day of Alistair's death, she learned even victories were not without their costs. Older and wiser now, day by day did sound best. Live in the moment and worry about the future when it knocked at the door, not before.

She nodded in agreement. Her teeth drug against his chin. Some women liked their men clean shaven. Elizabeth preferred Nathaniel this way, a shadow of a beard roughening his skin. "I'm still your Commander when we are on the field." Day by day did not preclude rules or boundaries. With Alistair, there were only the others in the group to think about. As Arlessa and Warden Commander, Elizabeth had more opinions to consider, more gossip to stem. Let them talk. She could not stop it altogether. That did not mean she had to willfully contribute to the gossip, however.

"Understood. Your wish is my command, on the field, or..." A hand disappeared beneath the covers, feathering across the top of one of Elizabeth's thighs. "Elsewhere."

The words were not meant to hurt, rather to entice, but that did not stop their sting. His hand stilled at the quick close of her eyes and the long exhale of breath that followed. "I'm sorry," she apologized, green eyes reopening to find blue. "You had no way of knowing..."

_"Your wish is my command," he said as he charged toward an ogre._

_"Your wish is my command," he said as he set up their tent for an evening._

_"Your wish is my command," he whispered before kissing her goodnight._

"...but that is something Alistair said to me often."

Nathaniel traced the contours of Elizabeth's face with a pensive glance. A question colored his expression; one he did not leave unspoken for long. "Do you want to tell me about him?"

Alistair was not a subject she really spoke about with anyone anymore. Others had tried and failed; Nathaniel would be no different. Though the pain was lessening, the wound was still too raw. "No," she answered. Speaking about Alistair was not what she wanted to do; she had something else all together in mind.

 

* * *

 

Talking was hard when Elizabeth's mouth was full, but perhaps that had been her intent. Nathaniel's head sank further into the pillow, his hand already beneath the sheets reaching for her head, fingers grasping at disheveled hair.

He could grow used to this.

_Day by day_, he reminded himself.

If asked a year ago if he would be entwined with Elizabeth Cousland, his answer most certainly would have been no. Many unexpected things had happened to him in that time; that he ended up here, with her, should not have been a surprise.

Esmerelle had been right about one thing: if Rendon had known what might have developed between the pair… It was a thought worth considering another time when he could think more clearly and was not quite so deliciously distracted.

He surrendered to the _now; _letting it wash over him with the movement of her mouth, the lap of her tongue and the claw of nails into the skin of his thighs. Slow breathing quickened as he drew closer until there was no breath; air held in that final moment before everything relaxed once more.

Elizabeth slid along his body, resting atop him. A smug smile held fast to her lips. So pleased with herself just as she had every right to be. He let out a huff of air, his smile meeting hers in a rough kiss.

"There are worse ways to wake up," he joked.

One of those ways knocked upon the door and entered the room without invitation.

Anders stood just inside the room. Rather than look apologetic for interrupting, he grinned widely like a child might on his name day when presented with a pile of gifts.

Quickly rolling off Nathaniel and to his side, Elizabeth's irritation showed in her expression and her snappish tone, "What do you want, Anders?" She clutched the sheet tightly, hiding what nakedness she could from the mage.

Hooking an arm behind his head, Nathaniel lounged upon the bed and waited on Anders' response.

"So Justice was right," he answered. His smugness gave way to the sober and he revealed the real reason for his interruption, "Darkspawn on the move to Amaranthine. A scout just arrived with the news."

So much for a day in bed.

Elizabeth set up, but did not leave the bed. "Get everyone, Anders. We will leave shortly and shut the door behind you."

A moment's hesitancy delayed Anders' departure. Some witticism lingering upon his tongue? Common sense or a sense of self-preservation got hold of him and, instead, the mage nodded and took his leave, shutting the door quietly behind him.

With Anders' absence, Nathaniel left the bed, eyes scanning the room for where his clothing might have landed. Pants were across the room, near the door. They had wasted little time after dinner the night before.

"I will go get my armor." After they were done with the darkspawn, he could go visit his sister and go to Esmerelle's. There was no ignoring her comment before her execution. He had to look. He had to know. He did not need to tell Elizabeth, however, and he remained silent on such desires.

She remained upon the bed, sheet still clutched to her chest. "No. I want you to stay."

She what? He stalled the tying of his pant's laces to give her a quizzical look beneath the veil of unbraided hair. Every time she ventured out after conscripting him, she always brought him along. Why would that change now? He opened his mouth to protest but was silenced as she continued.

"Fergus… He would insist on coming and I cannot have him there. I need you here to watch him."

There was an irony there - a Cousland wishing a Howe to watch over another Cousland. Many would find Elizabeth's logic insane and misguided. Nathaniel did not. But he had his own sister to think of. Delilah lived in Amaranthine and if darkspawn were headed in the direction…

"Delilah," he said quietly.

Elizabeth nodded as if expecting that response. She abandoned the bed, sheet left behind. Nathaniel stood unmoving, watching her as she walked toward him, never having looked more beautiful. "I know." Her voice soft, the touch of her hand against his cheek tender, she said, "I cannot stay here to watch my brother so I must ask you to. I will watch after your sister because you cannot. I promise."

A trust many assumed would never be rebuilt was renewed in the foundation life as Wardens allowed them to lay. His head turned, lips finding the palm of her hand in a kiss. "I will watch him. I promise."


	27. Two Fronts

"How could you just let her go?" Fergus paced about the room, his fury worn as a second armor. Hearing the preparations being made for a Grey Warden assault upon darkspawn, Fergus had readied himself and his men to aid in the battle. The task had fallen upon Nathaniel to stop the teyrn and deliver the news: his sister did not wish his assistance. That gone about as well as could have been expected.

A punch was thrown and venom spat.

But it was too late and Elizabeth was already gone. Having suspected her brother would act quickly, she left the Keep hours before with Anders, Justice, Oghren and a compliment of Keep guards to wage battle against the darkspawn intent on Amaranthine.

Nathaniel withstood Fergus' attacks and managed to draw the man inside and to more private quarters in hopes that reason might sink in. "It was an order, Fergus. Don't think I like being here any more than you." Armored himself save the gloves he removed upon entering the room, Nathaniel massaged his bruised jaw and leaned against the wall adjacent to a window. How many times in one week was Fergus going to punch him?

In the yard below, Fergus' men stood confused. Did they go? Did they stay? Some would have survived a battle with the darkspawn, but how many would have perished through injury or contact with the taint? Nathaniel had not liked Elizabeth's decision, but he could not entirely say he did not agree with it. He would do as he promised,just as he was sure she would do the same.

"Then let's go." Fergus stamped his foot against the ground, a petulant child rebelling.

A shake of the head Nathaniel's initial response, he edged from the wall, foot pushing against stone, and walked toward Fergus. "No. I made a promise."

"Since when does a promise mean anything to a…" A challenge lit dark eyes. "...Howe," Fergus spat, anger taking hold of his temperament rather than the reason Nathaniel hoped would take root. Another punch thrown. And though not a physical attack, the strike still hit roughly.

"_I _made a promise, Fergus." Not his father. Not his brother. Nathaniel made that promise and he did not merit Fergus' ire. His jaw tensed, anger rising in a slow simmer. "_My _sister is in that city, but I promised _yours _I would keep you here and that is what I intend to do. You are either willing or you not. But I _will _do whatever is necessary to see her wishes followed."

A line was drawn. The decision was now on Fergus whether he would cross or not. He understood Fergus' frustration. If roles were reversed, if it was Delilah that went off without Nathaniel, he would have felt the same way. Both men had few left in Ferelden to call family. Both men would do whatever was necessary to see to that family's protection. As would Elizabeth. As would Delilah. For all the differences between the Howes and Couslands, they shared many similarities. A devotion to family was just one of them.

Fergus' shoulders slumped. He was not the only person capable of throwing a verbal punch. Nathaniel's words found their target and Fergus' rage lessened to defeated frustration. His hands thrown up, his tone exasperated, "I don't know who is the more stubborn or determined person - you or her."

A corner of Nathaniel's mouth tugged dryly. "That could, indeed, be a draw." Nathaniel dropped a hand upon Fergus' shoulder. "Let's go tell your men they will not fight today and then maybe we can drown our worries in some whiskey." All was not mended between Fergus and Nathaniel, but where there had been no hope before, a glimmer of possibility persisted. A friendship fractured was not necessarily a friendship destroyed. Nathaniel had few he could call friend. To count Fergus among their number again felt better than he would openly admit…especially to Fergus.

"Fine," Fergus conceded. "Now, what exactly is going on between Elizabeth and you," he asked as the men started down the hallway on their way back to the courtyard outside.

Day by day had not really given whatever it was between them a classification. But did it need a name? No, Nathaniel did not believe so nor did he believe it was really any of Fergus' business.

Shouting erupted down the hallway, stopping any response by Nathaniel. Men ran toward the pair, expressions frantic. "Darkspawn heading to the Keep," one exclaimed.

A two pronged assault, both Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep. They should have seen this coming, should have been prepared. But they were not. Few wardens remained at the Keep, only Nathaniel and Sigrun. And then was Fergus and his men… How many of those had seen battle with darkspawn before? Very few, Nathaniel assumed.

They would gain that experience now. He sped down the hallway, Fergus and the guards on his heels. Already sounds of confusion and fear echoed throughout the main courtyard. Herren and Wade were the calmest of the merchants that came to the Keep each day. The two men had seen the battle in Denerim. What weapons they had on hand were distributed to any that found themselves without defense.

Young children were ushered inside, the battlements manned, the gates closed all at Nathaniel's orders. He slipped easily into the position as acting commander. This was his home - both old and new. No more intruders would take it from him.

He felt the darkspawn long before he saw or heard them. A look shared between Sigrun and he, both felt the song within their blood. A steady beat crawled with foreboding against the skin. Nathaniel sprinted along stairs, climbing atop a battlement along the front gates. Hundreds of darkspawn spotted the landscape. There were no such numbers of defenders within Vigil's Keep.

Old growth trees cracked beneath the step of ogre feet and swing of their monstrous arms. A fallen tree plucked from the ground like a child might scoop up a feather. Their intent was obvious; the gate would not stand for long.

The wall quaked beneath Nathaniel's feet as the ogres swung the log at the heavy wooden gate. The arrows he shot in their direction - one, two, three, four - did little to dissuade their attempt. Mere irritation, nothing more. The heated oil two guards poured upon one of the ogres was far more effective, stalling their assault for a few minutes, but not successful. The beast's anger rose as did its determination to gain access to the innards of the Keep.

Splintered wood filled the air at a final thrust and the true battle began. The cries of the injured and fallen mixed with the sounds of battle. Metal clanged against metal. People - elf, man and dwarf - fought against monster. Each of Nathaniel's shots were fast and precise. An arrow struck an emissary's eye, stopping the cast of his frozen magic. An arrow landed in the throat of a genlock intent on Fergus; the darkspawn fell dead behind the teyrn at his feet. An arrow pierced the heart of hurlock as it ran toward Nathaniel.

Adrenaline and a promise he did not wish to break suffused Nathaniel's attacks. Burning muscles and an injury sustained to his side at the slice of a darkspawn's dagger were both ignored. There would be time later. If he paused, if he stopped… He kept his eye upon Fergus during the battle. He was not alone in watching the teyrn either. Blond hair flashed from shadow, a flurry movements unlike any Nathaniel had witnessed before. Zevran dispatched all that came against him. He flitted about the battle, a nimble dance of death performed with each arc of silverite daggers. It was easy to see why so many feared and coveted the skills of the Crows.

For each darkspawn that died, two more seemed to take their place. A steady stream of the monsters spilled into the Keep. Only when Dworkin's catapults began their pounding did the tides begin to turn. Mortar tore through the invading army, scorching the courtyard in fire, blood and bodies. Both ogres died to the Dworkin's weapons, but not before one killed Varel. So intent on dispatching the seneschal, the ogre failed to notice the cannonball.

The fight went on for hours until the mother's Herald entered and died in the fray. With his death, those remaining darkspawn retreated, slinking back to whence they came. Ichor and blood covered Nathaniel's armor. Pain radiated from his side, fingers of fire flaring to life against his skin as the calm began to set in. A wince slashed his mouth upon at each step taken as he stumbled toward a fallen Fergus - alive but injured. The teyrn took an arrow to the shoulder during the final engagement.

"I see why Elizabeth keeps you around. You are still quite good with that bow of yours," Fergus noted, good humor in his tone.

"That's not the only reason," he quipped. Nathaniel offered a hand to Fergus, helping the teyrn rise from the ground. Nathaniel had defended the Keep. He had kept Fergus alive. "I keep my promises," Nathaniel added, mouth hooking dryly before he tumbled to the ground, unconscious at Fergus' feet.

 

* * *

 

They were too late. Darkspawn laid claim to the city of Amaranthine. All around, evidence of their corruption could be found and sensed. Small fissures cracked the landscape of the city coupling with the echoed screams of the monster's victims. An aura of anxiousness surrounded all the wardens; the taint heightened their sense for the creatures but set them on edge as well.

Elizabeth had been tasked with protecting Amaranthine and rather brought chaos and destruction upon the city. Would Amaranthine have fared better save the presence of the wardens in the arling? Perhaps.

Elizabeth rested a gauntlet clad hand atop her head and let out a weary sigh at the sight of the darkspawn that stood before her - a messenger and servant of the architect. Talking darkspawn was not something she would ever grow used to. Their sentience made them all the more unnerving. Monsters with little reason were easy to kill; those that spoke and spouted logic were not quite so.

The news the talking darkspawn brought only worsened the situation. In her absence, a darkspawn army attacked the Keep. A war on two fronts. The city constable and the messenger urged Elizabeth to abandon the city, raze it and kill all inside - both darkspawn and citizen. Elizabeth Cousland, murderer. Elizabeth Cousland, Commander of the Grey. Elizabeth Cousland, Arlessa of Amaranthine. She wore many hats but which she would wear this day, she had yet to decide.

She stepped away from the group, leaving Constable Aidan, the other wardens, and the messenger to await her decision. Tendrils of smoke snaked into the mid-afternoon sky. From afar she imagined such design might have looked beautiful in a way; the random pattern of smoke in the air drawing forth a child's imagination as to what pictures might be drawn in the skyline. She saw no beauty in such devastation. Each plume of smoke, each crack of a building as it collapsed meant the deaths of innocents. The toll she kept within her head of those she had killed continued to climb. Where did she draw the line? When did she reach too much?

The Keep was inhabited by its innocents as well. Shop keepers, servants and others that sought their livelihood within the walls of Vigil's Keep all would fall prey to a darkspawn army left unchecked. She had few faces for those people, merely the knowledge of their existence. That did not lessen their importance, however. They were her subjects. They were the people that believed and had faith that the wardens would keep them safe. She had a duty to them.

But what of her duty to herself? The last few months had taught her ignoring her own needs was just as dangerous. She needed connections in this life, personal reasons to do all that she must. Those reasons were at Vigil's Keep. Fergus and Zevran, she loved. And Nathaniel... She did not love him, not yet. But there was no denying the connection they shared. He did not cure her of her pain; he did not make everything better. He _understood_ her pain and that it would never go away. He was what she needed.

She had made a promise to Nathaniel, a promise to watch after his sister. If she destroyed Amaranthine, she would do far more than destroy the city. She would destroy him as well and he might never forgive her.

Her decision was made. Vigil's Keep would need to defend itself. There were guards, two wardens, a Crow and Fergus' men, not to mention all the safeguards she'd installed during her time as Warden Commander. The Keep had a chance on its own. The city of Amaranthine held no hope without her aid.

Along with the Constable and the messenger, the wardens and those Keep guards made their way through the city. Each group of darkspawn they happened upon, dispatched. Those citizens they found that could be saved were told to go to the Chantry. Those they could not save, those already exhibiting signs of the taint, small mercy was shown.

No sign of Delilah was found until they arrived at the Chantry. She was located inside, huddled with those others that managed to find safety within the building. Hundreds hid beneath the watch of the Maker, praying for their safety. The Maker was not the one that delivered them from the darkspawn threat that day.

Elizabeth cleansed the city along with Anders, Justice and Oghren with the death of the last Disciple general. Amaranthine was saved, but the fate of Vigil's Keep would need to wait. The Mother required her attention first. A broodmother of a different design, she was responsible for the attacks on the city and the Keep. Many darkspawn and a dragon attempted to block their path. All died save one - the Architect. Him, Elizabeth let live. He spoke of an end to Blights. He spoke of a transformation of his kind. They were her. She was them. No more old gods. No more final blows. The decision had been one of the easier ones she ever made.

Deeper and deeper they delved until reaching the Mother and more of her children. All but one of the Vigil's Keep guard had died along the way. Four Grey Wardens entered the Mother's inner sanctum and four were to depart. A sword in one hand, a dagger in the other, Elizabeth jumped into the fray, fighting alongside those she called brother. She fell beneath a pack of children. The beasts bit down upon a greave of her dragonbone armor. The sweep of Oghren's axe dislodged the monsters. Oghren scooped from the battlefield, held within the Mother's grasp. He tumbled to the ground at the stab of Elizabeth's weapons, a final blow that ended the fight and destroyed the Mother.

The victory was theirs, but as she learned at Fort Drakon, many victories came with their losses. Hers would be tallied upon their return to Vigil's Keep.


	28. The Calm

Elizabeth paused at the sight of the smoke touching the horizon, her worry openly worn. Pyres? The Keep itself? Elizabeth was unsure. After a fitful night's camp, Elizabeth and the others left the Dragonbone Wastes and began their journey back to Vigil's Keep. Uncertainty circled the group; no one spoke of what they might find when returning home. No one really spoke at all, not even Anders.

Which was worse? Knowing and regretting or not knowing and delusion? Coward was not one of the mantles she wore. She had to know.

Oghren walked at her side. He had been there during some of her darkest hours. "I'm sure he's fine," he said.

"Fergus has just been through so much..."

Oghren snorted, "Yeah, I'm sure he's fine too."

Two hours later the group approached the broken gates to Vigil's Keep. The large and imposing wooden gate was no more. The main structure itself, however, was in tact. For the first time in two days, Elizabeth felt a bit of relief. The damage was extensive but not complete. They could rebuild.

The smoke in the skyline had been from the funeral pyres. An image from the past painted in the future, she thought back to the siege upon her arrival to Vigil's Keep. Like then, families watched on, waiting quietly to send their loved ones to the next life.

The people of Amaranthine lived. The people of Vigil's Keep did not. This had been the choice Elizabeth made. She could not regret her decision, but it left her hollow all the same. There was no victory to be claimed in so much innocent death. If sparing the Architect could at all bring an end to such slaughter…

She heard Fergus before she saw him. Her brother yelled out her name as he bounded down the stone stairwell leading into the interior of Vigil's Keep. His arm in a sling, he looked otherwise unharmed. The first smile in two days took hold of her mouth and she embraced her brother, holding a touch too tightly against her, causing him to yelp out in pain.

Apologetic, she relented, but did not release him. "What happened?"

"They came hours…" An admonishing gaze punctuated, "After you left."

Elizabeth recognized that look all too well and Fergus could chastise her further later. Not now, not when she didn't yet know…

"How many," her gaze drifted toward the pyres, "died?"

"They are still finding some of the dead." The elation of their reunion crumbled. Sadness commanded Fergus' expression. "Some of my men." He let out a heavy sigh. "The taint and others in battle."

Those were the not the people she wished to hear about. You are a horrible person, Elizabeth Cousland. Her chin sank. Guilt gnawed at her stomach along with her previous worry. Those dead mattered to someone. They mattered to her brother. He was the one that would have to tell their families they would not be returning home.

"Let me take you to Nathaniel."

Her head lifted, eyes finding her brother. Fergus always knew how to know just what she was thinking. Elizabeth hated and loved that about him. "He's…"

"…recovering. Poison on a dagger almost killed him but Zevran was able to make an antidote. He's weak but fine." Fergus shot a glance toward Anders. "Maybe even better if your mage sees to him."

Anders scoffed, indignant, "Her mage?"

Elizabeth held up a hand to Anders, a signal for him to calm down. Fergus meant no insult. "Yes," she responded to Fergus. "Take me to him." The worry that ghosted her thoughts dissipated. Zevran was fine. _Nathaniel _was fine. "Tell me everything that happened."

As they wound their way through the halls of the keep toward Nathaniel's room, Fergus told Elizabeth of the battle, of the darkspawn that spilled in, of the ogres and terrors he hoped to never witness again, of the way Nathaniel organized and commanded the forces upon the field, and, finally, of the way Nathaniel saved his life when he thought himself death for certain.

As they paused just outside Nathaniel's room, Fergus added, "He is…" He scratched at the back of his neck, face drawn into a grimace. "…not so bad, I guess."

"No, he is not," Elizabeth agreed as she opened the door.

Fergus excused himself with a squeeze of his sister's shoulder before leaving Elizabeth and Anders to tend to Nathaniel.

Her fingers coiled around the edge of the door as she lingered within the entry for a pause. Nathaniel sat atop the bed. Dark circles framed his eyes and a weariness shadowed his features. He had never looked better to Elizabeth or so she thought. A lazy smile curved upon his mouth at the sight of her and she found herself corrected. _Now_, he had never looked better.

With a glance over her shoulder, she beckoned Anders into the room. "See to his wounds," she ordered while stepping aside to grant the mage entry.

"Yes, let y_our mage_ see to his injuries," Anders drolled sarcastically, still smarting from Fergus' earlier remark.

Finger and thumb pressed against the bridge of Elizabeth's nose and she let out an irritated sigh. Another time she might have massaged Anders' ego, but not now. She was simply too tired.

"I'm fine, Anders," Nathaniel protested. Before Elizabeth could object, Nathaniel added, eyes fixed upon hers, "Really. I'm much better now."

Anders looked between Elizabeth and Nathaniel and rolled his eyes. "Andraste's knickers. You break him, you buy him," he said. His hands pressed into his hips. With a sigh, he added before turning to leave, "I mean it. I'm going to take a hot bath and eat a pie or four."

The door shut behind Anders leaving Nathaniel and Elizabeth alone.

Decorum was forgotten at the click of the door. Elizabeth's weapons tumbled to the ground and she was upon Nathaniel. Breathing. Real. Her hands cupped at the sides of his face, eyes intent upon his. Though exhaustion weighed down his features, a lightness floated upon his lips. He was happy to see her and she him. To see was not the same as to feel. Their kiss was not gentle; its press too urgent, too insistent. Her body melded into his, the length of his arms wrapping about her and pulling her down upon the bed. That she still wore her armor hardly mattered.

"... I had thought..." The words nothing more than a whisper, spoken at the break of their kiss, her brow set against his.

"I had though the same," he confessed, relief and something more heated suffusing his tone. Neither of them had been correct and never had being wrong felt better. "Is it..."

"Over?" She nodded, "I think it is. There was a broodmother. I killed her."

"Good." Fingers searched out the pins that held her hair in place.

Elizabeth sat up, her freed hair spilling over her shoulders. Her own hands began to work the buckles and fasteners of her armor. "Thank you for watching after Fergus."

They worked quickly and in tandem to free Elizabeth of her cuirass. The question came as her chest armor fell to the ground. "My sister.. is she?"

"Fine, Nathaniel." Her greaves came next and then boots; each piece added to the pile upon the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Freed of her armor, Nathaniel drew Elizabeth back the bed once again and upon her back. The weakness he still felt in his limbs, the low but steady thrum of pain that echoed along his leg, neither mattered as he rolled to her side. His sister was fine. _Elizabeth_ was fine.

"She is remarkably difficult to kill. I would know; I tried," Zevran told Nathaniel. He wanted to believe the assassin, to trust in his words and let them bring comfort. The comfort did not come until he saw her standing within the doorway to his room.

Sending Anders away was an easy choice.

The time he had recovering from his injury gave Nathaniel time to think and consider his feelings for Elizabeth. The level of concern and worry he felt while waiting on her to return was new for him. He loved his sister. He even supposed the feelings he felt for his father were love at one time. The tangled circle of emotions that knotted his stomach at thought of Elizabeth was nothing he experienced before. There was only one explanation and the reasoning did not hearten him, not as such knowledge should.

He loved Elizabeth.

There were so many reasons he should not. Chief amongst them, love and duty often mixed no better than oil and water. But she had poisoned him, as sure as the darkspawn dagger that wounded him during the siege. And for this, there was no cure. One look at her, dust from the road upon her armor, the sun's blush flushing her cheeks and the soft round of her mouth curved into a relieved smile, he was ready to swallow another draw of beautiful poison.

They spoke no further. Words could wait; words could come later. His hand drifted down her chest, gliding over the fabric of her doublet before stopping to rest upon her hip. Grey set upon green, his eyes locked with hers as his hand roved. A calm before an inevitable storm. Fingers closed around the bottom hem of her doublet, lifting the material enough to expose the flat of her stomach and give his hand the freedom to explore further.

The fevered desperation that swallowed them both with Anders' departure mellowed to a slow burn in the deliberateness of his hand's touch and gentle glide of his lips against hers. He wanted to taste and savor, not consume. To think someone lost and to discover them not… Nathaniel wished to take his time and live within the moment of their reunion for as long as possible.

A soft moan edged Elizabeth's lips as she responded in kind to his kiss. Her hands explored as well, one sinking into his hair and cradling the nape of his neck as the other traveled the length of his spine to settle just upon his backside. The press of her fingertips into the thin material of his pants sent a trill of sensation down his legs. His pleased sounds soon mixed with hers.

Time stilled as they laid there atop the bed relishing in the feel of the other. At some point her doublet and his pants joined the pile of armor upon the ground and their bodies intertwined. His hips pressed into hers, rocking slow and deep. Her legs wrapped about him, heels digging into his back.

Nothing had ever felt so intimate.

Her release came first. Her head tilted back as he felt her tighten against him. Lips drug along the slant of her neck to the hollow. As she came, his mouth closed upon hers, drinking in the vibrations of her cries. Her orgasm brought on his. A breathy cry was muffled within the crook of her neck.

He stayed like that atop her for a time, neither eager to separate from the other. The kisses trailing along her neck and shoulder stilled only long enough for him to shift to her side and draw body against his, chest to back.

The long silence broke in a single word as Elizabeth's fingers coiled about his, pulling his arm about her chest tightly in a hug. "Sleep," she sighed out.

And for the first night in many, Nathaniel expected he could do just that.

 


End file.
